Memory Of The Body
by kili-grabmyhand
Summary: Maggie Beauford was never one to drown in her sorrows, Forrest Bondurant was never one to share or dwell on his. When they meet, they find something that they didn't know they were missing; they find each other. But Maggie starts drowning, and Forrest finds that he can't breathe or keep his head above water without her. Horrors from the past haunt them. Forrest/Maggie.
1. Held In A Dreaming State

Return often and take me,  
beloved sensation, return and take me-  
when the memory of the body awakens,  
and an old desire runs again through the blood;  
when the lips and the skin remember,  
and the hands feel as if they touch again.

Return often and take me at night,  
when the lips and the skin remember.  
Constantine P. Cavafy.

* * *

Forrest wakes slowly, and to the sound of rain droplets pelting down lightly on the tin rooftop above him. All is mostly quiet, aside from the shaky sound of his own heavy breathing and the low hum of car engine somewhere outside those worn, white hospital walls. Far away footsteps are approaching and he hears this as he glances towards the window to his right, where the moon dangles high up in the sky and casts white light down upon the town and through the hospital windows.

Forrest knows that it's a hospital room that he is trapped in, hell, he thinks it's probably the same room that he stayed in when he had his throat slit from ear to ear, but he tries not to think about that, tries hard not to focus on it, and the pain that arises in his chest has nothing to do with the aftermath from the shoot-out. Forrest doesn't mind thinking on that night, on the sheer agony that he felt when he had his throat slit, even though it is one of the worst things he's ever endured, but he did _endure _it, and what pains him the most is thinking on what may or may not have happened to Maggie.

As the footsteps near, a sharp pain shoots through Forrest's body as he attempts to sit up in bed faster than what he's ready for. He glances down for the first time and notices that not only is he without a shirt but there are an assortment of bloodied bandages scattered across his chest. His eyes snap up as the floorboards creak, and the oil lamp on the bedside table to his left, which flickers dangerously, casts a silhouette of a shadow on the wall as the figure enters the room slowly.

"Jack?" Forrest grumbles.

"Oh, Forrest, you're up."

"That you, Howard?" Forrest croaks, and he is surprised by the sound of his own voice. He coughs twice to clear his throat and repositions himself on the bed, eyes trained on Howard as his older brother steps forward and into the light of the oil lamp.

Howard looks tired, real tired, and there are dark marks beneath his eyes that suggest he hasn't been sleeping properly, if at all. Howard takes off his hat and wrings it between his hands, eyes stuck on the floor before he finally meets Forrest's eyes. He gestures towards the door with his hat, "I'll go get the doc."

"Wait a minute, Howard." Forrest says.

"Somethin' wrong, Forrest?" Howard asks, half-turned towards the door., and he doesn't take a step forwards or backwards, he just hovers by the end of the bed with that tattered hat in his hands. His shoulders form a straight, rigid line, but there is the slightest shake to his hands, almost unnoticeable, suggesting that he hasn't been drinking much either.

"Just how long you been here?"

"Since the bridge." he says.

Forrest tries to sit up, tries to do anything but stay still, hands slack by his sides, but his bandages are tight and his body disagrees with sudden movements of any sort. He huffs out a loud sigh. "Get over here, Howard."

Howard sits at the end of the bed, hands still wringing that damn hat as he says, "Jack's OK."

"Course he is." Forrest says, as though it ought to be common knowledge. "He's a Bondurant."

"You almost died, Forrest." Howard suddenly says, sounding as though he blames himself.

Forrest draws in a sharp, unsteady breath that hurts a hell of a lot more than it should. "Course I did. I'm a Bondurant."

Howard shakes his head, eyes fallen to the floor as he adamantly refuses to meet Forrest's eyes, not when he knows and fears the disappointment that will be in them. "I should have been there." he says, cursing beneath his breath as he thinks on his failures.

Frowning, Forrest scratches at his stubble. "You were there."

"Let you down again, didn't I." Howard says, finally looking up, and Forrest is familiar with that look in his eyes, he'd seen it when Howard came to the hospital glum and guilt-ridden because he wasn't there when his brother had his throat sliced open from ear to ear.

"This had nothin' to do with you."

"I was callin' out, Forrest. For help. I was tryin' to get to both of you, but I—I just—"

"It ain't your fault, Howard. You hear me?"

Howard Bondurant drank like a fish, but after that night he drank a hell of a lot more and he wasn't around half as much, couldn't bring himself to meet Forrest's eyes or pretend that he didn't know what happened to Maggie. He spent most of his time away and at the stills, because it was easier to get a drink or black out there.

The guilt ate at Howard, it gnawed at him and tore him up from the inside, because he wasn't there when Forrest had specifically asked it of him, when Forrest had needed him the most, so Howard didn't see why Forrest would need him around anymore, not after that unforgivable failure that had nearly cost Forrest his life. If Howard was there, then none of it would have happened. Forrest wouldn't have been left dying in a pool of his own blood, struggling to hold his own neck together, and those awful things wouldn't have happened to Maggie.

One morning at breakfast, Howard saw the bruises. He reached over the bar, leaning closer to see how breakfast was coming along, but Maggie wouldn't let him look, kept saying that patience was a virtue and he ought to try and learn it. Howard stepped around the bar anyway, tried to take a piece of bacon from the pan but Maggie had swatted his hand away, and that was when he saw it. Maggie was wearing short sleeves that quite the bruises, she must have forgotten, and Howard saw the, he saw the purple and green outlines of fingermarks on her pale skin.

That was how he knew. Maggie faltered, she fell back into the memory of that night, and then she easily recomposed herself, so swiftly in fact that if Howard had missed that slight falter then he wouldn't have guessed that the bruises marked something darker, something far more sinister.

"Howard?" Forrest grunts.

Howard snaps out of his reverie and says, "I got him, Forrest. Jack did first. He got Rakes. Shot the fucker. Rakes kept tellin' him he wouldn't do it, but Jack did. Then, I gut him like a fish, Forrest."

Forrest nods along slowly. He would have liked to have seen that, would have liked to have made that son of a bitch die slowly and painfully, the way that he deserved after all the suffering he brought upon Forrest's family. Forrest would have liked to watch as the life faded from Rakes' eyes.

"You did good." he says.

Howard ducks his head, looking uncomfortable as he locks his eyes on the floor again. "I thought you died, Forrest. Or you were goin' to die. We all did. Doc said you ain't got much of a chance, but I didn't believe him."

"Maggie's gone, then." Forrest says, and he doesn't care for those words, doesn't like the way that they sound or how bitter they taste in his mouth, but he says them regardless, says them because Maggie should be long gone by now, maybe even back to Chicago, and Forrest didn't blame her.

"I don't know what to tell you, Forrest." Howard says and he's smiling, _smiling_, and Forrest is about to ask Howard just what in the hell he finds so damn funny when Maggie appears in a deep red dress and a tiny smile on her lips.

Forrest sits up straighter immediately, eyes on Maggie as she rests against the doorframe. Howard stands abruptly, knowing full and well to take his leave, but, before he does he steps over to Forrest, ducking his head and speaking in a hushed voice, "I'm glad you're good, Forrest."

"I'm alright."

"I'll be with Jack, if you need me."

"You go on off home now, Howard. Jack'll be fine."

Howard nods his agreement then turns to Maggie and says, "I'll wait in the car." he puts his hat one and steps around Maggie and into the hallway, and it is only once Howard is out of sight that Forrest finally speaks.

"You' goin' somewhere?" he asks, and he doesn't try to mask his disappointment.

Maggie shuts the door behind her, leaving it slightly ajar, then steps forward slowly, taking the same seat Howard had at the foot of the bed. "I don't plan to." she says, then a thought a occurs to her. "Why? You plannin' on goin' somewhere?"

"I ain't goin' nowhere." he says and means it entirely, because so long as she is here, so long as his family is here, then he doesn't want or need to be anywhere. "Except out of this damn place."

"That right?" she asks, amused.

Forrest grunts in response as he struggles to sit up straight, he has had difficulty in doing so ever since he woke. His body won't do what his mind is telling it to, and he isn't used to being confined in four walls. He settles back against the pillow, feeling slightly groggy from what feels like too much sleep.

"How long?"

"You were out for a few days." Maggie says, almost offhandedly, but Forrest can see through this act, he can tell that this means a lot more to her than she is letting on, it troubles her a great deal more than she will ever say.

"You stay here?" Forrest asks, even though he _knows_ her and he knows that she did. He expects that she will try to downplay it, try to make it seem like her staying by his bedside constantly isn't such a big deal, and she does exactly that when she says,

"So did Howard. He was distraught."

"Howard'll be fine." Forrest says, because they always are.

"I think you should talk to him, Forrest. He thought he'd lost you both. I even—I thought that we'd lost you, Forrest. I thought _I_ lost you." Maggie says, those last words ringing with distress as they reach Forrest's ears.

"Come here, Maggie." he sounds as though he is pleading, begging even, but she would never say if he was.

Maggie is reluctant to move at first. It isn't because she doesn't wish to be close to Forrest, because that is one of the only things she truly wants, but because it's far too familiar to when he was last in here. She hasn't allowed herself to think about, she tried to stay focused on the present, tried to not let herself get caught up in the past, but there was one thing holding here there, one thing holding her _here_, and it was Forrest.

Before Forrest, Maggie had always done as she pleased. If it weren't for Forrest, then Maggie would be on the very next train out of Franklin County. Before Forrest, Maggie had always been able to run away, from her past and from her problems, but now she knew that she couldn't run again, she wouldn't be able to leave Franklin County behind if Forrest was still here.

Forrest waited for Maggie, he loved her silently, privately, and she knew that he did indeed love her even though he had never said so explicitly. Forrest Bondurant is and shall forever be a man of few words, and Maggie didn't know if he would ever tell her that he loved her with words, but she was content with that. Maggie doesn't need to hear the words to know that they are there, that they are what he feels, what she feels so strongly that she is bound to Forrest Bondurant and Blackwater Station.

Forrest doesn't need to talk, he holds her or watches her, and says so much in these simple gestures, in brief touches and longing looks, and this is more than he could ever say with words. He extends his hand to her, green eyes full of unspoken longing, words so quiet that they are nearly inaudible, "Come here, Maggie."

But Maggie can't quite her hear, not over the voices of those men that echo in her eyes. She shudders at the memory, at the sound of his sleazy, slurred voice in her ears, _now, lets have some fun,_ and the way his breath felt down her back, hot an disgusting, then his filthy hands staining her skin.

"Maggie?" Forrest calls her name, and she moves forward silently.

Maggie sits closer to Forrest now, close enough that she can see deep within those green-gray-blue eyes of his, and she places her left hand on his bare chest, atop of where his heart is, because she has to feel his heartbeat, she needs to have this confirmation that this isn't some sort of twisted dream, that Forrest is actually alive. Maggie splays her fingers out across his chest; his heart beat soothes her, and she closes her eyes and breathes this in.

"Look at me, Maggie." Forrest whispers, and she does so – albeit reluctantly – and she regrets it the very second that she does, because when she looks at Forrest it is as though he has had his throat cut again and she is forced to watch it, forced to see it, and she can't relive it, she can't.

Maggie swore that she wouldn't do that again, that she couldn't, but she would. Maggie can't leave him, she could never leave him alone in his bed or alone in a pool of his own blood. She pulls hear hand away from his chest and back to her lap, but Forrest catches her wrist and holds it lightly but firmly, forcing her to stay even though she longs to run. She shakes her head, curls bouncing around her face, eyes still firmly fixed on their hands, but then he takes a hold of her chin, tilting it so that she will meet his eyes.

"You can." Forrest says, watching as the tears spill down her porcelain cheeks. She raises a hand to wipe at the tears, but he drops his hand form her chin and holds that hand in his own, and says, tone stern but eyes soft, "Look at me, Maggie."

"I _am_."

"I don't think you are."

Maggie frowns, and Forrest wants nothing more than to kiss her forehead and smooth out that frown. "I _am_, Forrest." she sighs, not intending to sound nearly as cross as she does. "What are you talkin' about?"

"You're lookin' at me? Is that so?"

"I'm lookin' straight at you, Forrest."

"I'm here and I ain't goin' nowhere, you hear me?"

Maggie nods slowly, unconvinced. "I heard you."

"So long as I'm livin'," Forrest softly begins in an intimate voice, as though he is whispering a secret that is only for her, "So long as I'm on this earth, I won't let another bad thing happen to you, Maggie."

Maggie smiles sadly. "You ain't going nowhere?" she asks, almost shyly, and Forrest lifts her hands to his dry, cracked lips and presses a quick kiss to them, a gesture so unlike Forrest that it soothes her, and she knows that she has her answer but Forrest voices the words anyway.

"Not without you." he says, and Maggie leans forward to press a brief kiss to Forrest's forehead. Forrest releases her hands, clears his throat and says, "You go on home now, Maggie. Howard's waitin'." _It's not home without you_, she thinks but doesn't dare say, and Forrest looks like he knows, looks like he can hear her thoughts, looks like maybe he feels the exact same way. "Go on off now," he says and nods towards the door, "I ain't goin' nowhere."

* * *

**A/N: **This is my first FF for this fandom. Maggie/Forrest are my OTP. Enjoy!


	2. Never Quite Awake

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy.

Maggie can feel eyes on the back of her neck seconds after she steps outside and slowly makes her way down the steps of the hospital. She approaches the car cautiously, for she can't see Howard anywhere, and she still can't shake the awful sensation that someone is watching her.

There is an eerie sort of silence to the town this evening.

All is silent, aside from the sound of her footsteps and the sound of crickets chirping, and she finds that it's too quiet; it's an unsettling, sinister silence that sends shivers straight down her spine. She stops, turns slowly, with her eyes tightly shut, as she tries to mentally prepare herself for the onslaught that she fears is imminent.

But nothing happens, no one jumps out at her from the shadows, and that scares her more than anything

Her skin crawls with fear as she opens her eyes, her heartbeat pounds loudly in her eyes, and she can't recall the last time that fear and worry had consumed her so.

To her relief, she sees that it is Forrest who is watching her; he has drawn the drapes across, and he stands by the window in his room, with a worried expression on his features. Forrest isn't completely unreadable, even from this distance, and Maggie can see the concern in his eyes, even from the sidewalk.

She feels relieved, that he's looking out for her, that he's watching over her, but she also feels embarassed that he witnessed this little incident; she gives him a small smile, which he doesn't return, for his brows are furrowed together, and Maggie knows that if she stays here, on the sidewalk, for a second longer that Forrest won't hesitate from exiting the building and returning to Blackwater Station by her side.

Maggie turns back towards the car, she can still feel Forrest's eyes on her form, and she steps over to the passenger door to find Howard's body slumped over in the driver's seat; a flash of panic surges through her as she thinks of the idea of any harm coming to Howard.

"Howard?" She calls and runs over to the driver's door, she opens it and shakes him roughly twice but he doesn't stir. Her hand fumbles on his neck, his skin is clammy with sweat, as she desperately searches for a pulse; he coughs, suddenly, and just like that he sparks back up to life.

Howard mumbles something incoherent as he sits up in the driver's seat, he'd passed out while waiting for her, Maggie can see the empty bottles piled up on the seat beside him, and she could smell the liquor radiating off of him the moment she'd reached the car.

She insists on driving, he is reluctant to move but he does eventually; he shifts over, opens the passenger's door to push the bottles out onto the street, before she starts the car up.

She didn't know that her hands were shaking until she started it up.

"You look tired, Howard." Maggie remarks as she reverses the car, she can feel Forrest's eyes on her features the entire time that she does, and Howard murmurs something about not needing sleep in response before he rubs at his eyes harshly and slouches back against the wall. "Should get some sleep, Howard, I'll wake you when we get there."

They drive in silence, aside from the sound of the car engine and Howard's heavy breathing as he snoozes.

As she drives up to the same stretch of road that she did that night, when she returned to Blackwater Station to see Forrest, her thoughts are immediately drawn back to the events that scarred her in ways she never thought anything could.

* * *

"Forrest?"

Maggie had called out his name, as she peered around outside that Station before venturing indoors. It was seemingly empty, but she knew that Forrest had to be around here somewhere; she wasn't bothered by the darkness, or by the eerie silence, because she knew that so long she was near the Bondurant's that she would be safe.

"Forrest?" She tried again, but received no response.

As she stepped inside, she spoke again, "There's something you need to know." She said, and that was when she saw his face, one of the men who Forrest had kicked out - after they had harassed Maggie at the bar - and it was one of the men who had brutally attacked Forrest moments before they got to Maggie.

Earlier, when they had started an argument at the bar, stating that their disagreement and dissatisfaction was with Maggie, it was over a drink, they claimed that Maggie had refused to give them what they had paid for; but they had been lying, that was clear as day, and Maggie had known exactly what they were after.

She had known what they were after, what they wanted to steal from her, before they had even taken it.

Forrest had successively beaten the two men to a pulp, before he tossed their broken and bleeding bodies down the front steps before dragging them a few feet away from the Station; after that, Maggie had assumed that she was safe, that those men would be gone for good and that would be the last time that she would ever see them, that they'd cause her no further trouble, but she was mistaken.

Maggie was terribly, terribly mistaken.

"Now," One of the men said, his face still broken and stained with blood. "Let's have some fun." he had said, in that sick and slurred voice that still haunted her whenever it would be too quiet.

And then, she had felt a figure behind her, as she tried to back away, as she tried to escape, but he had pressed his body up against hers and she'd never felt more ill. Each time he exhaled, his hot and disgusting breath would brush against her skin and pour down her back.

Maggie had wanted to scream out, to cry, to call out for Forrest, but all her protest fell short, all her screams fell silent in her throat, and she was as quiet as she has never been when she felt the edge of a blade being pressed against the delicate silken fabric o her shirt and slice through to mark her skin.

It didn't matter how hard she tried to shake the sound of their voices in her ear, the slmey feel of their sweaty hands on her skin, she always heard it, always felt it.

But she didn't show them that.

They'd taken so much from her, but she didn't show them just how much it shattered her.

She kept her eyes clenched shut the entire time, she refused to cry out - even though they took from her something that should never be taken - and she resolutely remained silent, lifeless, for she was in denial.

They bruised her, cut her, beat her, drew blood and taunted her, and then they left her, left her to be broken and battered and barely together, but she managed to pull herself together, she managed to get herself dressed as best as she could.

Once Maggie was dressed, she shakily slipped back into her shoes and stepped outside slowly, unsteadily, and silently; she didn't wish to wake Forrest, not now, and she was, in some sick way, thankful that he wasn't there.

She was thankful that Forrest wasn't present, that he didn't show up in the middle of it, because even though she wished that he could have stopped it, that he could have saved her, it got to the point when she realized that it _couldn't_ be stopped, that she _couldn't_ be saved, and she didn't wish to drag him into it now.

It was better that way, it was better if he didn't know, for he didn't need more blood on his hands.

Because that's what he'd get, more blood; he'd hunt those men down and he'd kill them, and as much as Maggie wanted them to suffer, she didn't want to ask that of Forrest, she couldn't, and wouldn't, ask that of him, and that was why she would be leaving in the morning.

She would come back the Station, say her goodbyes, and then she would be on her way.

In that moment, Maggie was relieved that he wouldn't see her like that, weak and vulnerable and broken, and she didn't wish for anyone to see her now, especially not Forrest, and she knew that she couldn't face him now, not after, not with knowing what had just happened in his very own house when he was potentially sleeping just upstairs.

Maggie had felt faint then, nauseous like she might be sick, dizzy like she might collapse, and so she leant against the edge of the verendah to steady herself; and that was when she was it, that was when she saw him.

Forrest.

Maggie found Forrest.

He was collapsed on the ground, lying in a pool of his own blood, and he was just as silent and as still as she had been moments earlier. Maggie had stumbled to his side, with shaky and unstable legs, and, somehow - to this day she still isn't quite sure how she did it - she dragged his body over to her car.

Maggie's hands shook as she dragged him, her hands were underneath his armpits, because she couldn't lift him, she couldn't sling one of his arms over her shoulder and walk him over, for she wasn't nearly strong enough. As she dragged him, she tried to be both gentle and hasty in her movements, and it was one of the most horrific things that she has ever had to do.

She had sworn that she would never do it again, not because she didn't care enough, because she did, and not because she was selfish, because she wasn't, but simply because she wouldn't be able to, she couldn't do it.

It was an awful ordeal, and it nearly killed her to see Forrest like that; seeing Forrest like that hurt her worse than what those men had done to her, and she was certain that if she had to go through such an ordeal again that she wouldn't come out of it alive.

Maggie dragged him to the passenger side, opened the door with trembling hands, and hauled his body up into the passenger seat. She sat his body up, the blood continued to spill out from his throat, and she shut the door before she ran, with wobbly legs, to the driver's door before she started the car up to get into town as quickly as she could.

"Forrest." She cried his name. "You hold on, you hear me?"

Maggie still isn't sure how she did it, how she managed to hold herself together, how she managed to drive with one hand on the steering wheel while the other was pressed against the deep gash that ran from Forrest's left ear to his right.

But she did, she did it, and she'd do it again.

She drove into town without breaking, without shattering into a million pieces, and she ran over to the passenger side where she pulled Forrest out of the car, dragged him outside, while calling out for help. When they came to her assistance, she told them that she had found Forrest outside, that she had seem him staggering about, and that he was mumbling something about walking all the way from Blackwater Station.

"He walked all the way from Blackwater Station," Maggie observed, hoping to implant the idea in the Doctor's mind, before she added, "With his throat slit from ear to ear."

"How was he when you found him?" The Doctor asked.

"Barely breathin'." Maggie answered, she proceeded to tell them how he was conscious until a few moments before she had helped him reach the hospital, and she wasn't even entirely sure if he was still breathing. They had rushed Forrest upstairs, her and the doctor under each of his arms, because she refused to let go of him, and they'd taken him to the nearest vacant room.

Maggie waited outside while they stitched him back together.

She refused to sit, despite a nurse telling her it was going to be a long wait, but she refused to sit, because she wasn't staying, she was only waiting, for news of any sort, and then she would be gone. Maggie waited, while they stitched back together the man that was never broken, the man that was never hurting, and then the Doctor emerged.

He told her that he'd pull through, that he would be just fine, and she decided that now was the time to leave.

Before she could leave, she needed one last moment with Forrest, she allowed herself that.

She stepped into his room slowly, she felt anxious to be out in public, nervous and on edge, for she felt like all those eyes watching her knew what had happened to her, but she needed this, this one last moment, and she wouldn't be able to leave without it.

She looked upon his sleeping face, but she couldn't stand to look at what they had done to him, so she kept her eyes strictly on his face, and she refused to let them down to his neck, the neck that she had to hold together, and she knew she couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Goodbye, Forrest." Maggie whispered, before she turned her back on him.

She closed the door behind her, because she had to leave Forrest Bondurant behind.

The doctor had approached her, a look of concern on his features, and as he spoke his grey moustache twitched and his grey eyebrows furrowed together. "Are you alright, Miss?" He asked, genuinely worried by her appearance.

"Am I alright?" Maggie glanced around the two of them as she answered the question, her eyes darting around quickly, suspiciously, before she looked back at the doctor.

"Are you hurt, Miss?" He asked, his gentle blue eyes were full of concern that Maggie couldn't see; because she was back in the bar again, and those were the only images that played in her mind, the only faces that flickered across her eyes.

"I'm fine." Maggie told him, she smiled shortly, weakly, and she knew he had seen straight through it.

"You just look rattled, Miss, that's all." The doctor said, and Maggie knew that she did but she kept up the pretense regardless.

"I'm fine." She replied, her voice finding the confidence that she had failed to find all night. "It's nothing that a hot bath won't wash away." She added, before she turned away.

Maggie distantly heard the doctor say something else, perhaps he called out after her, she wasn't sure, but she left the hospital before the other Bondurant brothers would arrive; she returned to the hotel in a daze, and she didn't even realize that she was there until she was in her room, shutting the door and locking it behind her.

She collapsed then, once inside, and her back hit the door as she slid down it, until she hit the wooden floorboards.

Maggie Beauford never knew just how breakable she was until that evening.

She slowly stripped out of her clothes sometime later, then she tossed them aside quickly, as though they were toxic, dangerous, poisonous. She took a bath, scrubbed at her skin until it was raw and red and aching even more, before she slipped into a simple silk nightdress, pastel and pale, just like her current complexion.

Maggie sat at the wooden chair in front of her dressing table, where she proceeded to light a cigarette; she didn't know how bad she was shaking until she found that she couldn't even light the cigarette properly. It took several or so tries, and even once it was lit she had trouble with it; she couldn't hold it properly to her lips, for her hands trembled uncontrollably.

She stubbed the cigarette out, and found that she was reluctant to look at her own reflection in the mirror, to look at the bruises, the cuts, the hand marks that she knew were there. She saw the cuts in the mirror, the ones on her arms, and she knew that there was blood left over in the bathwater.

The wave of nausea that threatened to hit her earlier, hit her then. She stumbled into the bathroom where her knees buckled beneath her. Maggie hit the floor, hard, and she weakly held herself up as she dry wretched over the toilet.

* * *

Maggie doesn't realize how far gone she is in this painful recollection until another car beeps madly at her; this effectively draws her attention back to the present, where she sees that she swerved into the path of the other car that heads towards them.

Howard wakes immediately, with a snort, he looks startled, and Maggie quickly swerves the car back onto the proper side.

"You alright, Maggie?" Howard asks quietly, instead of reprimanding her like Maggie half expected him to; she half expected him to get angry, to get infuriated, and to get pissed off that she'd almost killed them in a collision.

"I'm fine, Howard." Maggie replies with a shaky voice,.

She knows that Howard doesn't believe her, he doesn't buy it, not for a second, but he doesn't say anything, he doesn't call her on it, he doesn't even watch her with concern, and for that she is relieved, for the weight of Forrest's eyes on her were too much, and she doesn't think she can handle Howard's either, not in her current state.

Instead, Howard waits.

He waits until the reach the Station.

They get out of the car in silence, moving slowly and sluggishly, and he glances over his shoulder and sees that Maggie isn't too far behind him as he crosses the yard to the steps, up onto the verendah, and then he reaches the front doors. He opens up, and as he does he feels Maggie behind him, she lightly grips the back of his shirt between her small hands, and he still doesn't say a word.

He waits.

Howard waits until he was locked up again, until he has checked every nook and cranny of the house - while Maggie stays right by his side - and he waits until he's walked her up stairs, to Forrest's room, before he does it. He hugs her, and she doesn't flinch or try to escape, because she knows that no Bondurant would hurt her, no Bondurant would bring her harm, and he doesn't let go until she does.

"Night, Maggie." Howard says and nods once at her, before he turns to step inside the spare room where Maggie had previously been staying.

"Goodnight, Howard." She replies quietly, and then he falters in step.

He notices that she still hasn't stepped inside her room yet; she hesitates in the doorway. "You sure you alright, Maggie?" He asks, for the second time, and he expects the same answer as he turns back to face her.

She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't have to. She shakes her head, her glossy orange curls bounce around her face, and he can see the tears rolling down her cheeks. "No." She says in a quiet, mouse-like voice.

"Come here, Maggie." Howard steps forward with open arms, and when she sobs into his shirt he just holds her.

Maggie's family now, and the Bondurant's always take care of their family.

* * *

**A/N: **Firstly, I'd like to say a big thank you, to each and every one of you who have either favourited me/this story, followed me/this story, viewed and reviewed this story, so here it is: THANK YOU! And last, but not least, I'd like to say a special thanks to my lovely sis.**  
**

Also, I'd like to quickly thank the guest reviewers who left comments; I truly appreciate the feedback, and I am extremely glad that you are enjoying it thus far. I hope that you continue to, and thank you for reading!

Feel free to tell me how you feel about this chapter, as I am more than happy to reply to feedback.

For those who may be slightly concerned about the pairings, you needn't be; the main pairing for this story is still Maggie/Forrest. Maggie and Howard are merely friends, because I thought that Maggie & Forrest were made for each other, and I also hope to introduce a potential love interest for the eldest Bondurant brother in later chapters.

I hope you enjoyed reading this, because I greatly enjoyed writing it :)

**X**


	3. The Waking World

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy.

Forrest stirs in the hospital bed.

He hadn't slept well, not without Maggie.

The sheets cling to his body, his movements are sluggish and slow, and his eyelids are still heavy with weariness. He is reluctant to open them just yet, for he is hesitant to wake now; he didn't sleep particularly well last night, if at all, and he would prefer to rest for a little while longer, but it appears as though someone else has different plans for him.

He can't shake the strange sensation that someone is whispering his name, poking him in the arm, and waiting only a matter of seconds before they repeat the process; they are small, brief jabs, that annoy him more than anything.

"Forrest?" A voice calls.

Then, without fail, the all too familiar jab in the arm follows.

"Forrest, you awake?" A voice asks.

He pointedly ignores the voice, he doesn't respond, doesn't show any signs that he's partially awake under these heavily eyelids of his, and he remains still as the process is repeated.

"Forrest?" A poke, and then another. "Forrest, I-"

Forrest's hand flies out, catches the voice's hand by the wrists, before he says slowly, so very slowly, "Touch me with this hand again, Jack, an' you'll lose it." he squeezes Jack's wrist tightly, to emphasize his point, and he is teasing, of course, but Jack takes it somewhat seriously.

"Ain't you just a pearl in the mornin'." Jack remarks sharply.

Forrest continues to keep his eyes closed, he grunts in response to Jack's remark, and as Jack tries to pull his hand out of Forrest's grasp he finds that he can't; even like this, even in this broken and battered state of his, Forrest is still significantly stronger than Jack.

"Ain't you just a pest in the mornin'." Forrest counters, as he finally releases his hold on Jack's wrist. "What do you want, Jack?" he grumbles, forgetting that he hasn't seen his younger brother since the shoot-out.

"It's nice to see you too, Forrest." Jack answers dryly, and _that's_ when Forrest remembers.

"Oh…uh…" Forrest murmurs quietly and starts to stir in bed. He rubs at his eyes, before he opens them and blinks away the weariness, and mumbles, "Uh…yeah. It's real nice to see you, Jack." he says and sits up properly in bed; he looks down and notices he's wearing a shirt now, a hospital one, plain white, and he frowns slightly, wondering just how and when that happened.

Jack disregards Forrest's words and instead beams at him and says, "I got him, Forrest." Jack continues and nods enthusiastically. "I shot Rakes."

Forrest mutters words of approval, when Jack pauses in his wholehearted retelling of the events at the bride, and he grunts to show Jack that he's still listening, he nods along slowly with Jack's recount as he recalls the events and retells them to Forrest, and he even thinks, not that he'd ever say, that he'd never been prouder of his younger brother Jack.

Jack did what had to be done.

He had done what Forrest would have done, had he not have fallen, and he had the courage to carry through with it. He had shown the courage that Forrest always knew to be in Jack, brewing somewhere in there, the courage that Howard sometimes teased Jack about not having, but Forrest had always known that it was in there somewhere.

Jack stood up against his adversaries.

He faced his fears, did what he thought he could never do, but he isn't courageous because he shot a man, because anyone can shoot a man and they can do so without a reason, but he is courageous because he risked his own life to protect those he holds closest.

Jack went to face Rakes, alone, and he was willing to risk his life and die for his loved ones.

It was always there, the courage. It was always growing slowly. It isn't the kind of courage that you're born with, it grows as you do, it grows with you, and that, Forrest thinks, is one of the best kinds of courage. Jack is growing into his own man, he isn't like Forrest or Howard in the slightest, and Forrest couldn't be prouder.

He won't tell Jack that though, he doesn't want him getting an even bigger head.

"Are you even listenin'?" Jack asks suddenly.

"What kind of question is that?" Forrest says back, and his eyes finally focus back on Jack's face. Jack raises his eyebrows in response. "I'm listenin', keep goin'." Forrest tells him, and Jack does, without hesitation.

Forrest is surprised to see just how healthy Jack looks.

He looks well, not at all like a man who has been shot, a man who has been burdened with the guilt of shooting someone else - then again, not a single soul should feel any sort of guilt for what happened to that bastard Rakes -and Forrest is certain that he doesn't look half as healthy as Jack, he certainly doesn't feel half as healthy as Jack looks, but he attributes that to being shot a countless number of times.

He's more than glad to see Jack hale and hearty as he plunges back into his passionate recapping.

Forrest can't recall a great deal of detail about the shoot-out; he does remember bits and pieces, such as speeding down the road, shooting, getting out of the car, knowing that Jack got shot, dragging Jack's body away from the line of fire, and shooting at Rakes but missing.

He remembers being shot at himself, but that's when it turns blurrier.

Forrest doesn't recall how the bullets felt as they pierced his skin and brought him to his knees, all he remembers is thinking about his brothers, faintly hearing them, and the frustration that he felt at not being able to reach them. He also thought about Maggie, all the way back at Blackwater Station, and how she would be long gone by now.

If Forrest listens hard enough, he can still faintly hear Howard's voice; he can hear Howard screaming out for help, calling out to Forrest, shouting out to Jack, and Forrest didn't think then how difficult that all would have been for Howard.

Only now is he wondering what Howard would have thought when he saw his brother's falling around him, dropping down like flies, just how he had seen his brothers in arms fall all around him on the battlefield of war. Howard was the only survivor, and that was how it was for him at the bridge; his brother's fell around him, his brother's were shot to pieces, and yet some sort of cruel fate had spared his life yet again.

Howard wasn't injured at the bridge, he wasn't shot, just how he had escaped death during the war, just how he escaped injury that night when Forrest had his throat cut, and he felt guilty for that, for all of that, and it had started to consume him ever since the war.

He drank and drank until the pain and the guilt would start to dampen, but it would never disappear entirely, it would never subside, it would only fade out to a pleasant sort of pain, a dull throbbing pain in the back of his mind that was always present, and then it would come roaring back again.

"I'm goin' home in under a week, Forrest." Jack says and he looks pleased with himself for recovering so rapidly.

Although he is well enough to be heading home so soon, he isn't well enough to be running about town yet, or even the station, and he is permitted to go home under the proviso that he rests and doesn't strain himself.

Forrest knows that Maggie will see to it that Jack is taken proper care of, that he is properly rested, that he doesn't strain himself, or cause himself further discomfort, and he also knows that Maggie never signed up for any of this. She never asked for it, and yet she stays, she sticks around with a sweet smile on her face, and she takes care of the three of them.

He is grateful, they all are, and he doesn't know how, or if, they'll ever be able to properly express their thanks

"Howard's pickin' me up when I can go." Jack tells Forrest, and Forrest nods in response. "We're gonna stop by and see Bertha."

"You look after yourself, you hear me?" Forrest says seriously as he peels the sheets off of his body.

"I ain't like you, Forrest." Jack tells him, and they both know that it's true; Jack isn't like either of the older Bondurant brothers. "I know my limits."

"And your church friend," Forrest says, purposely ignoring Jack's words. "You look after her, too."

"Bertha." Jack corrects, and draws out the name so it's more like 'Berrrthaaah'. "Her name's Bertha."

"Alright." Forrest grumbles, and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "You look after Bertha, then."

"Shouldn't you be stayin' in bed?" Jack asks with a small smile as he thinks about Bertha.

Forrest lets out a deep sigh before he replies, "Speakin' of beds, shouldn't you be back in yours by now, Jack?" He asks and lets both of his bare feet touch the cold floor. "Doctor ain't gonna be happy to find you up and about."

"Alright, alright." Jack says in defeat, and waves a hand at Forrest as though telling him to shush. He returns to his room reluctantly, but before he does he goes on to tell Forrest that he'll visit him real soon.

"You go on back to your room, Jack." Forrest says sternly, because he doesn't want his brother to risk straining himself. "And you stay there until you're headin' home."

Forrest draws in a sharp breathe as he slowly stands from the bed; he stretches his limbs slowly, knowing that he shouldn't push himself, but he has never been one to let a few wounds slow him down; he walks back and forth, pacing slowly, getting used to the feel of working limbs again, and he ignores the sharp jabs of pain that he feels pull at his body from where the bullet wounds are.

The wounds hurt, he won't lie, but having his throat cut hurt more; he had endured worse, like that influenza that should have killed him, and so he'd tolerate this.

* * *

Back at Blackwater Station, Maggie wakes slowly.

Last night, she'd fallen asleep before Howard did.

Howard had slept in Forrest and Maggie's room, on the floor by the door, and he refused to leave, he wouldn't abandon her, especially not after her bout of tears. He knew that she was afraid - of being alone, perhaps - and he also knew that she would never say it, he would never hear those words, and so he'd done what she had wanted even though she never had to ask.

Maggie had cried into his shirt, until she had no more tears left in her, and then she had proceeded to apologize repeatedly, saying how embarrassed she was and how she was just tired, worried, fretting for Forrest and Jack, and that was all that there was to it.

Howard guessed that it was because what those men did to Forrest and Maggie that night.

He didn't blame her for feeling afraid, and she definitely wasn't the only one who had difficulty sleeping lately; he wasn't able to sleep much, either, not with thoughts of that night replaying throughout his memory. He didn't witness it, he didn't know until later, but that didn't stop the horrible pictures surfacing, and he couldn't stand to think about what they'd done to his family.

Howard had sat by the door, as Maggie lay down on the mattress, and he had leant against the wall beside the door, and she had felt terrible about him sleeping there, but he assured her that it was just fine, and when she didn't sound convinced he told her it was comfortable in comparison to when he used to sleep by the stills.

Maggie had fallen asleep soon after, or so he had thought.

Howard didn't know that she was awake, alert, in agony, for most of the night; she watched as night turned to morning, with blue eyes open, wide awake, staring straight out into nothing, forcing herself not to notice the empty space behind her.

He couldn't see her face from where he was sitting, how was he supposed to know that she gripped onto the sheets like they could save her? How was anyone supposed to know that she wasn't able to sleep proper? She couldn't, not without Forrest beside her.

Howard didn't know that, Forrest sure didn't know that, and Maggie didn't know it until Forrest didn't return.

Maggie couldn't stop thinking, she couldn't stop her mind from buzzing, her thoughts from running, and she couldn't stop reflecting upon what those men had done to Forrest, she cringed when she thought about those mongrels who had slit his throat, she couldn't bare to think of it, of them.

She secretly blamed herself for it.

Maggie thought back to the morning when Forrest woke, a few days after his throat was cut, and she had returned to his side - regardless of her resolve to leave town without throwing a second glance over her shoulder - because she couldn't leave Franklin County without saying a proper goodbye to the Bondurant's.

She saw Jack and Howard on their way out; she wished Jack well, hugged him, soothed him when he got a bit teary, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she told him to be on his way. Then she had turned to Howard, given him a kiss on the cheek, and told him that he'd been doing a spectacular job of taking care of his brother's this far, and when he strongly disagreed she promised him that they'd all be just fine without her, that they would be just how they were before she arrived in Franklin County.

"Look at what they did to you." Maggie had said sadly, upon entering Forrest's room and seeing him tucked up in that hospital bed with those bloodied bandages around his neck; all she wanted to do was take care of him, but she couldn't, because she needed to leave, and her needs greatly outweighed her wants.

She approached him warily, she simply watched him for a moment, his grey-green eyes never left hers, and that's when she remembered why she was there; she was there to say goodbye.

"I'm leaving, Forrest." She told him.

"Uh…" He mumbled, before he said, "The bar ain't really the quiet life you were lookin' for, huh?" he sounded disappointed; he was disappointed.

"It's the people, Forrest." Maggie said, because it wasn't the place, she liked Blackwater Station just fine. "People like them," she clarified, because she didn't want Forrest thinking that she was referring to him and his brothers. "They're why I left Chicago. I cut out and ran."

And that was exactly what she had intended to do; she would say her goodbyes, she would cut her ties and run, because that was what she had always done, that was all she was had ever known.

Maggie didn't say another word on the matter, she didn't delve deeper into the reasons behind her departure, and she didn't say a single word more on the 'people like them' because she couldn't trust herself not to tell Forrest.

Forrest watched her intently, as he carefully deliberated over what to say to her next, and he paused for a moment, his lips pursed together, and he knew that there was something that she wasn't saying. He knew that she had been rattled by those men, by having to pull a knife on them to defend herself when they'd pulled a gun on her, and he knew that she'd been startled by the violence that he had easily resorted to - in order to remove those men from the premises - but he also knew that she was keeping something from him.

He could tell, from the way that she held herself now, that something had changed.

"Come here, Maggie." He purred.

Maggie couldn't tell if he was begging, pleading, asking, or demanding, but she complied nonetheless; she walked up closer towards the bed and sat down next to him on the bedside, his eyes never left her face as she inched closer.

"Now," He started, his voice was low and gravelly. "This has nothin' to do with you either." he promised, but deep down she knew that it did. "Nothin' at all." he repeated, as though that should reassure her; it didn't, and the guilt inside her threatened to consume her.

They'd cut his throat because of her, because they were after something, something that she'd denied them of it, and when they caused a scene and Forrest tossed them outside; they blamed her, and she could hear their voices now, as she sat down beside Forrest and tried to focus on the present.

_Let's have some fun_, one voice whispered, and she barely managed to stop herself from shaking.

"Did you check out of that place yet?" Forrest asked and Maggie barely heard him.

She nodded after a moment, his words finally sinking in, because it was all that she could do; she couldn't form any words right now, not when her throat was too choked up with fear.

_'If only you'd kept your pretty little mouth shut earlier', _one of the men sneered as he clamped his hand down over her mouth. '_If you'd kept it shut earlier, like you are now, then we wouldn't have had to deal with that Bondurant boy'_ that same voice snickered, seconds before they'd stripped her of her clothes.

Maggie had barely managed to keep the bile in her throat down as she reflected on it, but she couldn't stop the tears that streamed down her cheeks, the tears that Forrest attributed to fear, fear of those men, fear of what they could have done to her, and he was terribly mistaken.

"I want you to come stay at the station for awhile." Forrest told her, he wasn't asking or offering, he was _telling_ her; and that was the moment that she knew that she wouldn't be leaving Franklin County anytime soon. "With those guys still around, you best off close to us."

She knew then, like she knows now, that she is best off closer to them.

What she didn't know then though was how she was going to muster the strength to step back inside the station again without feeling overwhelmingly ashamed and sickened; Forrest's blood would still be outside, it was still in the damn car, and she knew that when she reached the front doors, stepped inside, she would see the scene in the bar replaying over and over before her eyes.

In that moment, when Maggie sat on Forrest's bedside and he wore bloodied bandages on his neck and while she wore a mask, she'd wanted to break down into a thousand pieces right there and then; but she held herself together, because Forrest was broken enough as it was – he would have enough difficulty in piecing himself back together, let alone Maggie.

All her life, she'd been holding herself together, she'd done it all these years and she'd become quite good at it, she didn't see the point in abandoning such practised pretenses now.

"We don't wanna see you get hurt." He said sincerely.

Maggie hold almost told him what happened; she wanted to, wanted to tell him what they did to her in his own home, but she stopped herself, because what she didn't want was his pity, she didn't want anyone's pity, because all she wanted was to pick herself up, dust herself off and carry on.

_We don't wanna see you get hurt_, Forrest had said, but Maggie knew that it was too late; she'd already been hurt. But they hadn't seen it, not one of the Bondurant brothers had seen it happen, and for that she was somewhat glad.

"We?" She questioned.

Forrest paused, he looked mildly uncomfortable for a moment, and then he avoided her question and instead murmured, "You can uh…you can use the spare room."

She stayed in the spare room initially.

Each night, when the lights would begin to dim out before disappearing completely, she knew that Forrest was there, at her bedroom door, for she heard his light footsteps on the stairs, felt his presence at the doorway - that she would purposely leave ajar - and she could feel his eyes on her as he watched her, seemingly sleeping peacefully, and he was always content with that, with just watching.

Maggie hadn't had a peaceful night of sleep since the night of the attack.

She was always stirring, waking, worried and frightened, and feeling as though those men would be lurking in the shadows in the spare room - she felt foolish, childish even, to have a fear of the dark - but then she started to share a bed with Forrest, and the darkness wasn't nearly as threatening, not with Forrest beside her.

Maggie watched as night slowly faded into morning, the sheets were tugged right up to her shoulders, and she had dragged her knees right up to her chest; it was then that she knew that enough was enough. She closed her eyes slowly, knowing that she had to be stronger, better, more together, and she knew that she had to not let it frighten her so; because, she knew too well from past personal experiences, the the fear inside of you can own you, if you let it.

She shut her eyes slowly, curled up further into the blankets, and knew that she had no other choice but to forget it all; because the very second that she allowed herself to speak of it, or to dwell on it, that it would eat her alive.

Maggie is completely awake now, Howard wakes soon after her, and when he does he murmurs something incoherent, something about a 'Benjamin', before he completely comes to his senses; he sits up quickly, sharply, and is on his feet within seconds.

Howard clutches his worn out hat between his hands as he glances toward Maggie. "Mornin', Maggie." He says uncertainly, and looks around awkwardly, as though he doesn't know exactly where he should be looking.

"Howard' you sleep?" He asks, even though he can see the dark marks underneath her eyes, the bags, that indicate that if she slept she didn't sleep for long. He asks this question with genuine concern as he wrings his hat between his hands and she smiles at this.

"Morning, Howard." She beams back at him as she steps past him.

Her smile is too cheery, much too joyous, in comparison to how shattered she was last night.

"I slept fine, thank you, Howard. Did you sleep well?" She asks as she opens the door and steps out into the same hallway that they were standing in last night.

"I did." He says quietly and continues to trail her footsteps.

"I'll be off for a bath now." She turns around and tells him, before she asks, with a smile, "Oh, before I forget; will you be goin' into town today?"

"I'm seein' Forrest and Jack." Howard answers slowly, confused by the cheeriness to her today.

"That's right!" She exclaims and shakes her head, as though she's silly and should have remembered.

Maggie puts a finger to her lip and taps a single nail, polished and red, against it as though she is in deep deliberation, and asks, "Now, should I make you breakfast before you go? Or lunch when you get back?"

"Lunch would be nice." Howard draws out his response, a slight frown on his features. "Thanks, Maggie."

"You're more than welcome." She beams back at him, and he almost would have believed this act if it wasn't for her behaviour last night. "You give those boys my best regards."

Maggie bathes quickly, dresses even quicker, and forces herself not to jump at every creak in the floorboards.

She knows that it isn't possible, for she had followed Howard downstairs, down to the front doors, told him goodbye and dismissed his concerns before he was able to voice them, and then she had promptly locked the doors.

Maggie stays upstairs, cooped up in Forrest's room.

She tries to coerce herself into leaving it, but she can't bring herself to leave, not just yet, not now, not when this room is one of the only safe places that she has ever known; she isn't entirely sure how much time has passed, but the moment arrives when, somehow, she musters the strength to leave.

Maggie walks out of their room, her haven, and into the hallway.

Just as she reaches the top of the stairs, a small, sharp, stabbing sensation in her abdomen forces her to her knees. She tries to grip onto the staircase railings, or something, to stop herself from falling to her feet, but the sudden spell of dizziness that hits her is enough to make her feel faint enough to lose her grip and consequently tumble down the first flight of stairs.

* * *

**A/N:**

I'll keep this short and sweet.

Firstly, I'd just like to let it be known how thankful I am! Thank you all, for taking the time out of your busy schedules to read this story, and I truly appreciate it. I love getting the alerts, that someone has followed/favourite/reviewed, and I hope you continue to follow the story as it progresses - it will be worth it!

Secondly, if you have any thoughts you'd like to share, or ideas, drop me a PM/review.

Lastly, I have to thank my sibling! You help me make sense of my muddled thoughts.

X

* * *

**Guest Reviewer #1:  
**Thank you for your praise! I am so flattered by such kind words, and cannot thank you enough for your feedback. I really can't properly express how flattered I am that you would say such sweet things about _my_ story, particularly about it being the 'sequel to lawless', and I hope that you continue to feel that way as the story continues.

Thanks for taking the time to read the story, and to write such a lovely review! It is muchly appreciated :)

**Guest Reviewer #2:**

I would also like to thank you for your kind words.  
The feedback is greatly appreciated it, and I am flattered that you perceive my fanfiction as 'quality' Forrest/Maggie. I am immensely glad that you like my story, and I hope that it stays that way.

Thanks again for such kind words, and for taking the time to read/review. You're awesome!


	4. Wake Me From This Slumber

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy.

Maggie Beauford wasn't born a fighter.

It wasn't hereditary, it wasn't something that her mama taught her, and it wasn't a possession that she had inherited upon her father's untimely and unanticipated passing; it was something that she grew into, over the course of time, and it was also something that the cold world of Chicago had forced her to become.

Even from a young age, Maggie would always stubbornly fight for what she thought was right; but there's a difference, a difference that she couldn't quite see back then, she didn't know then what she knows now, that there is a difference between what is actually right and what your own, sometimes biased, perception of right is.

Maggie was different, back then.

She was a little girl, stubborn and naive and reckless, seven years old and already stuck in her ways; she wasn't one to give up easily, and while growing up she fought for her family continuously, fought even when they didn't ask her to, even when they didn't want her to.

She fought her father's battles when he could no longer muster the strength, and she even fought for her mother, who had abandoned the both of them when Maggie was just a little girl. She never gave up, though. When she was younger, she knew that something wasn't right, something was wrong, between her parents, and as much as she tried she couldn't fix the gaping hole that was left in their family after Maggie's little brother went to heaven.

Not once did she give up on either of them, not even when they gave up on her, but then Maggie grew up and she realized that her attempts to fix her family had been futile and all in vain.

In this moment now, Maggie feels too tired to fight.

She is utterly exhausted, and finds that she can't muster the physical strength or the mental will that is required to lift her body from where it has crumbled into a collapsed heap on the staircase; she can't find her feet to stand tall, and she vaguely remembers feeling faint, tumbling, then collapsing.

Although it had only occurred moments earlier, she feels as though she has been stranded here, alone, for days.

It was just over a week ago when she had her first dizzy spell.

Maggie disregarded it as nothing, attributed it to the weariness that wracked her body, the overwhelming worry and concern that she felt over the Bondurant brother's. She has been feeling more than just a little lightheaded lately - ever since the shoot-out, actually - she feels lighter on her feet these days, like, if she isn't careful, she might just get caught up in the breeze and be swept far away from Franklin County.

She opens her eyes slowly, her hair has fallen into her face and prevents her from seeing anything other than a few fragmentary cracks of bright light in the bar just below. The darkness that tugs at Maggie longs to take her away with it when it leaves here, and she finds that she doesn't currently possess the strength required to fight it off.

Maggie decides that she isn't giving up the fight; she's just giving in momentarily.

* * *

Howard is halfway to town when he pulls Jack's car over to the side of the road and sits there.

He curses something colorful, something that he's thankful Maggie isn't around to hear, before he hits the steering wheel in a sudden paroxysm of inexpressible frustration and anger; after it passes through him, he draws in a sharp and shaky breath, a breath that does little to calm his mind or steady his hands, before he glances around the car.

He searches for the moonshine bottle, the on that he knows is in here, one he left in here after their last visit to the hospital, and when he finds it he sighs inwardly; there isn't anything better to suppress the guilt, the nerves, the regret.

When he undoes the lid, he does so with shaky hands that refuse to stay steady.

He takes a long, deep sip before he screws the lid back on and decides to save some for the drive back. He checks over his shoulder, once, in the direction of the station, before he turns back to face the road before him, the road that will eventually bring him into town, bring him to the hospital, to Forrest.

Howard didn't say a word to Maggie about last, he didn't mention it, even though he knows that he should have, but he couldn't bring himself to; it isn't because he doesn't want to, because he does, it's because he doesn't know the first thing about situations like these.

He doesn't know what to do or what to say.

Howard isn't any good at comfort or anything else like it; even if he wanted to say something, he always struggles with finding the right words. But then again, even when he finds the right words he doesn't know the first thing about actually voicing them out loud.

But just because he didn't say anything, doesn't mean that he'll be forgetting it anytime soon; Howard doesn't forget things as easily as others assume he does. He drinks to forget, but that only proves to be successful in the moment, and perhaps the morning after, but it all comes roaring back the next night.

He doesn't want to start driving just yet, because as he gets closer to the hospital he ultimately gets closer to having to make the decision as to whether or not he's going to mention any of this to Forrest.

Although he wants to tell Forrest, he also doesn't want to tell Forrest; he is conflicted, because he wants to say something because he's concerned for Maggie, but he doesn't want to say anything because Forrest has already got enough to worry about as it is.

Also, he'd sworn that he wouldn't say a word, he had promised Maggie that.

Last week, he caught sight of her being sick and she'd made him swear not to say a word.

They were sitting together at table in the bar, Maggie had her cigarettes and Howard had his moonshine; they were waiting for news on Forrest, they had been waiting for days, and it felt like all that they had been doing lately was waiting.

Maggie was getting more than a little anxious, nervous, worried, and she didn't look nearly as lively as she used to, it was almost as though a switch had been flicked, effectively killing the light, dimming the spark, the one that was always there in her eyes when Forrest was present.

Jack was awake, healthy, slowly but surely recovering in hospital, and for that they were relieved, thankful, less anxious. Maggie and Howard had stayed outside of Forrest's room on numerous occasions, they sat together in silence, on a small bench outside of Forrest's room, as they waited for the good news that was yet to come.

Maggie would fall asleep on the chair by Forrest's bedside, but then she would wake back at Blackwater Station.

"S'awful quiet 'round here without Jack…" Howard had remarked, as the two of them sat at the table, and that was his way of saying that he missed his youngest brother; Maggie had smiled at Howard softly then, like she knew just what he had wanted to say and that she understood why he would have difficulty in saying it.

"Don't worry, Howard." Maggie said and stubbed out her cigarette before looking up at him. "Forrest and Jack will be back soon." She said softly, but she wasn't very convincing; no matter how hard she tried to be, the inklings of doubt that she had felt flickered through her eyes.

"I ain't worried…" Howard murmured, he took another deep sip of his moonshine before placing it back down, and he purposely kept his eyes away from Maggie's concerned gaze. "I kinda like it." He said and nodded slowly, as though he was only just beginning to appreciate the silence and the peacefulness now. "The quiet is…nice."

Maggie had smiled, but otherwise remained silent, what she didn't say was that it was _too_ quite.

"It's like Forrest never left." Howard blurted out.

"How do you mean?" Maggie asked quietly, a little bit on the flustered side.

Howard didn't know how to answer, his mouth hung open and no words spilled out; all he'd meant by it was that it was awful quiet with or without Forrest around, for Forrest wasn't one to say much, he never had been, but he supposed that was before Maggie Beauford showed up.

Maggie Beauford showed up with her painted nails, her fiery her, her spirit, her life, her warm smiles, her kindness, and her sweet yet strong nature, and she had changed Forrest. Forrest had tried to fight it at first, for he never thought that a lady like that would be interested in a man like him, so when Maggie had moved Forrest's hat from the table, and hung it off a chair, he had to move it back, had to fight it, had to keep his distance.

But then Maggie had broke that distance, and Forrest was different, when he was with Maggie, different in a way that he never would have been without her, and she knew it, he knew, but neither would speak of it; they didn't need to, for they always had so many other ways of expressing themselves.

Forrest and Maggie would share what would be a seemingly simple look, but for the two of them it conveyed all that they couldn't find the proper words to say; when they wouldn't speak to each other, it was because they didn't need to, all had been said through a brief glance, a simple look.

They found countless ways to express the words that were stuck in their throats, the words on the tip of their tongues; they would share a brief touch, as Maggie would pour Forrest coffee in the morning, her hands brushing against his as she refilled his mug, or there was the ghost of a smile, that wasn't quite a smile but it was the closest thing to it, on Forrest's lips as they shared a bed in the dark of the night.

They would speak softly, small and sweet sounds, and then they didn't need to say a single word more.

"I-" Howard started to say, but found that the words were stuck in his throat. He didn't want to think about what it would be like if Forrest didn't come back. He'd prefer it if it stayed this quiet with his brothers around. "Forget it." He said quietly, and swirled around the contents of his jar, they swished around noiselessly inside the clear glass jar, before he downed the rest of it in one long sip.

Maggie was about to light up another cigarette when she stood up sharply - Howard had noticed that she had started smoking a lot more ever since Forrest didn't return - and her chair scraped back loudly as she stood up from the table, turned away, and took slow steps towards the bar.

She moved towards the door, with one had clamped down hard over her mouth the entire time, where she fumbled with the locks on the door before she proceeded to stumble outside; Howard followed her steps silently, the concern that he felt was evident in each long and hurried stride that he took to try to keep pace with her as she all but sprinted to the side of the house.

Maggie had stumbled down the front stairs of the station and stepped, with slightly shaky legs, around to the side of the house because she didn't want to be sick inside again; she waved Howard off with one hand, without glancing over her shoulder, but he stayed by her side nonetheless.

It was bad enough last time, Maggie thought as she staggered to the side of the house. She hadn't been eating much lately, she had a sudden loss of appetite, so when she was sick it had drained her of the little energy and strength that she still possessed.

She was cleaning up the station, even though they hadn't had any customers, when it had hit her.

Maggie had assumed that Howard had cleaned up after her, as it was gone in the morning, but he never spoke of it to tell her that he did so; he didn't plan on speaking about it, and she was more than fine with that. He didn't mind, he was used to having to clean up after himself after he'd drink too much one night and wake up the following afternoon feeling like death.

Maggie's hands had weakly gripped the wooden boards of the house when Howard reached her, she despised this feeling more than anything, she loathed it, and she hated having this as a weakness, and the last thing that she had wanted in that moment, when she was being sick by the side of the house, was for Howard to have to witness it all; she didn't want him, or anyone else for that matter, to see her in such a weakened state.

But Howard had stayed.

He placed a cautious yet gentle hand on her back, as he awkwardly attempted to comfort her, and when she finished he had led her back inside slowly, with one arm hovering behind the small of her back and the other lightly on her elbow, and he didn't say a word.

Maggie didn't realize how bad she was shaking, her entire body was trembling, until Howard had to steady her; his grip on her tightened ever so slightly, as he didn't want to break her, but he didn't want her to break herself by falling either. Maggie also didn't realize how faint she had felt until Howard had caught her seconds before she was about to fall to the floor.

It didn't matter how tight he held onto her, her legs kept collapsing beneath her weight.

It wasn't like this was a sudden bout of sickness that had sprung up and out of nowhere, she'd been feeling off for days now; ever since Forrest didn't come back, and she knew something was off, something was wrong, for things hadn't felt quite right for some time now.

Howard looked awkward and hesitant as he bent his knees and scooped Maggie up; her head flopped against his maroon shirt, her red hair falling across her face, as he carried her, one arm hooked underneath her knees and the other around her back.

He was more than cautious in the way that he placed Maggie down on the bed; he took his time, he kicked the sheets back with the heel of his boot and placed her down gently, he didn't want to break her, and then he turned to leave.

"Is-is that you, Howard?" Maggie stammered.

"I'll be back real soon." Howard told her softly as he turned to leave once more.

"Where are you goin'?" She asked, she sounded panicked, before she pleaded with him; her blue eyes stared up at him sadly as she said, "Don't leave. You-you can't leave me in this big house all by myself."

"I'm just goin' downstairs, Maggie, to-" He started to tell her, and then her expression contorted into one of fear as she cut across him.

"Don't. Don't go downstairs, Howard." She said loudly, quickly, so much so that it took half as much time to say the words as it normally should. "You don't want to be doin' that, Howard, you don't." Maggie continued to warn him, she shook her head and her red curls failed to bounce like they usually did.

"Was just goin' to get some-" Howard started to explain to her, again, but she started to become distraught once more.

"Don't go downstairs, Howard." Maggie begged, and Howard could see that the carefully crafted composure that she'd put on each morning was slowly, but surely, beginning to crack. "Please. Please, don't. They're down there."

Howard had wanted to do as she asked, as she begged for him to, but he knew that he needed to get her supplies of some sort before she got even sicker; she needed to stay hydrated.

"They can't know that we're here." Maggie said this part in a low, terrified whisper. "They'll get us."

"Who'll get us?" Howard asked, and immediately regretted it.

"The people like _them_." She had answered so quietly that Howard almost hadn't heard her; she looked utterly distraught as she sat up on the mattress.

Howard had stepped towards her slowly; he crouched down by her bedside and gently guided her back so she was lying down again. "Forrest is waitin' for me." He lied to her, and she had hung off of each word.

"He is?" Maggie asked, sounding both surprised and delighted.

"He's waitin' just out there for me, Maggie." He told her, and glanced over his shoulder briefly before he turned back around to look at her; he noticed how her eyes lit up ever so slightly at just the mere mention of Forrest's name.

"He's waitin' for me." Howard repeated, and he looked at her, _really_ looked at her, he looked past the façade and saw how exhausted she looked; it was unbelievable, actually, to see how drastically someone could change in a matter of moments.

This wasn't the first time that it had happened, and it wouldn't be the last either.

When they returned from seeing the boys the second night after the shoot-out, because on the first both Maggie and Howard refused to return home, they had just pulled up to the station when Maggie had staggered away from the car.

Forrest hadn't woken up yet, and Maggie was sick with worry, so much so that it was actually making her physically ill, and she didn't expect Howard to stay around at the station, not with the way that the guilt pulled at him, but he had stayed.

Howard supposed that he was sort of like Maggie in the way of changing so drastically, although hers was attributed to the fluctuation in her health whereas his was more linked to his temper than to anything else; he had always had a bit of a temper, not that he'd ever hit a woman, but he'd hit just about any man if he was given good reason to.

Sometimes, he didn't even need a reason.

Howard supposes that he is the brawn of the Bondurant's, the brute, the temper, and he isn't worth much else.

"We're gonna go downstairs together." Howard had told Maggie, and she had looked frightened for a moment, she had even opened her mouth to object, before he told her, "We're gonna face those bastards together, like we shoulda done that night."

"Forrest's here?" She asked, as though she couldn't quite believe it, and as though she hadn't even registered the first half of the conversation. She smiled to herself, and it was bigger than what he had seen in days. And it was a real smile, too. Not one of those polished smiles she'd spend so long putting on in the morning

"He is, and he's waitin' for me." Howard said, and then stood up, he took a step backwards before he said, "We won't let them get you, Maggie." he promised, and she had nodded, even smiled, like she understood; but she couldn't have been more deluded.

As Maggie curled up underneath the sheets, Howard stepped out into the hallway, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him, before he headed for the stairs; he had found the jug of fresh water on the bar downstairs, the one that Maggie had filled, and a small washcloth behind the bar.

He didn't know what else to get, what else to retrieve, so he settled with those and proceeded to head back upstairs slowly; he battled with himself each sluggish step of the way, over whether he should go for proper help or whether he should stay by her side as she asked.

Howard reached the room and stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, in his dirtied black pants, maroon and white checkered shirt, with the jug of water in one hand and the pale blue washcloth in the other. He stepped inside quietly, and when he reached her bedside he crouched down by her and continued to lie to her.

He didn't particularly enjoy lying, so he thought of it more as though he was telling a bedtime story rather than a falsehood; he told her how they'd taken care of those men together, how Forrest would be here soon, to be by her side, any moment now; she'd fallen asleep soon after that.

Her forehead was gleam with sweat, her red curls stuck to her neck and to her forehead in places, and he continued to dab at her damp skin with the washcloth, but he doesn't know how to take proper care of someone. While he has taken care of his brother's in other respects, he isn't one who is accustomed to tending to other people while they're ill; that was always Forrest.

Forrest was the one who had suffered severely from the influenza, the one who had made it through, and he was the same one who had tended to their parents, even though he himself was worse off than they were and he himself was dying from it just as rapidly, he still took good care of them.

Even as he deteriorated, he still tried to take care of them.

Howard was off at war, he was at war where he watched as the men dropped down like flies around him; they died, just like those who suffered from the influenza did, but by different means and for entirely different reasons.

Forrest knew how to tend to people when they were ill.

After their parents had passed, he'd been the one to take care of Jack whenever he was sick, or just take care of Jack, but Howard didn't have the slightest idea aside from the basics; water and a washcloth, aside from that he hadn't the faintest idea.

Water and a washcloth couldn't fix everything though; Howard had learnt that early on.

Death has always followed the Bondurant family. It has trailed their footsteps slowly, it has watched them from afar and never lost their trail or their scents, it has even dared to touch them once or twice, just to give them a sample of what death will taste like, but it has never dared to take them entirely.

It has taken only tiny pieces of them with it, little keepsakes, until their time comes when death will arrive on the doorstep of Blackwater Station and take them completely; body and soul.

And that's why Howard wanted to get Maggie the proper help then, that's why he wants to tell Forrest now, but she insists that she's fine. He can see now that she can be just as stubborn as Forrest can be at times, they are both too damn worried about their own stupid pride to be worried about their own health.

Howard decides to turn the car back, something about the way he left things with Maggie, the way he left things unsaid, unsettles something in his stomach, and he doesn't feel quite right about just leaving it like that, leaving her and not making sure she's ok.

He turns back the car, pulls up to the station and steps out. It's cloudy out, there's a storm rolling in over the mountains that will be at Blackwater Station sooner than Forrest will be. He steps up the front steps of the verandah, and pulls on the door handles but finds that the door won't budge.

"Maggie?" he calls, suddenly concerned for her whereabouts; even though he knows that she locked the door herself, he still gets worried for her sake. "You there?"

Howard leans forward and peers through the fly screen, and that's the moment that he sees Maggie laying in a crumpled heap, unmoving, still and as silent as death, on the staircase. He doesn't think twice as he tugs on the door handle and rips the door open, it slams loudly once he's inside, and he doesn't think about the broken lock or the car that pulls up beside his, instead he continues forward until he reaches Maggie's side.

Howard helps her up slowly, he's careful like he's never been, and she makes a small sound that lets him know that she's glad he came back; a cross between a whimper and a sigh as he helps her to her shaky legs. As she stands, that's when he sees that she's bleeding; must have cut her head when she fell, just above her left temple.

"Shut for the day." Howard shouts over his shoulder when he hears footsteps, without actually looking over to see who it is, he guesses it's Rodger who always arrives around this time. Howard's voice is threatening enough that Rodger retreats reluctantly, but not before watches Howard, at the top of the staircase, with that pretty little redhead, who works for the Bondurant's and who all the men in town are talking about, close by his side.

* * *

**A/N: **Apologies for the delayed update, as I am currently in the middle of my HSC, and it has been incredibly stressful! I have been insanely busy, but I can't help but write this! Late at night, when I should be catching up on lost sleep, I am writing this.

Anyway, enough about me! Let's talk about you; I hope that you, whoever you are, you wonderful person, that is currently reading this, is also currently enjoying reading it.

Thank you, all you lovely people, for followed/favouriting/so on and so forth. I love receiving the alerts, and it is such a great feeling! I won't thank you each individually, as I don't want this A/N to be be bigger than this chapter, but I just wanted to let you guys know that you are amazing and I appreciate your responses greatly.

Just quickly, I'd like to reassure you all that the pairing is still Forrest/Maggie. Howard and Maggie are merely developing an unlikely and unanticipated friendship, and I would like to see it further develop (as friends, of course.)

Thank you, readers! You take the time out of your day to read this, and I appreciate it greatly.

**X  
**


	5. No Kiss, No Gentle Word

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy.

The sweet sound of Maggie's melodic voice calling his name is what wakes Forrest in the morning.

He wakes slowly, and half expects to be met with a kind smile, a pair of baby blue eyes, but instead he wakes to the sight of Blackwater Station; he must have recovered real quickly, he thinks, as he steps outside and onto the porch, glancing out into the night as he does.

Forrest sees a car driving off in the distance, down the road that leads away from Blackwater Station, and he can't help but feel as though he has seen a scene similar to this one not too long ago; as he watches, he sees it all as it plays out before his eyes.

He is incapable to stop it, unable to escape it.

Without warning, Forrest's feet lead him down a set of stairs; he continues to move forward, unwillingly and unknowingly, and then he reaches his car. He begins to tend to it, fix what has been broken, put the piece back in its place, even though his mind is screaming out for him to take a step back and step back inside the station.

A figure jumps out at him, while a second figure steps out from the shadows behind him and presses a jagged blade to his throat; the first figure holds Forrest's arm out in front of him, to keep him in place, hold him still, while the figure behind him begins to hack at the skin of Forrest's throat.

His hands are shaking, trembling beyond control, all of this is beyond his control.

Forrest knew then not to fight it, because he would have surely died if he moved against the blade, fought against the blade, and so he had just endured it; but now, as he relives it and endures the night all over again, he wants to fight it, he has to fight it, because he knows what happens next.

He knows what happens to Maggie.

Forrest didn't fight the first time, because he knew that he would have only assisted them, helped them in slitting his own throat by writhing around madly, but now he needs to fight it, needs to fight them off, needs to get to Maggie.

He chokes on his own blood, splutters and gurgles, as they spit words at him that he can't quite hear, and all he can think about is Maggie; Maggie who had returned to the Station that night, for reasons that Forrest still doesn't know, and she had an unmentionable and deeply depraved act committed against her, an act that Forrest didn't learn about until he left her, to go after Jack who had left in search of Rakes, before the shoot-out at the bridge.

When Forrest learnt about it, he was rendered speechless.

Forrest had never been a man of many words.

He knew that he should have said something, he should have made an attempt to console her, comfort her, fix her, but he couldn't; he gave her no kiss, no gentle word, no sympathetic look, instead he gave her silence, and as he recovered from the bullet wounds in hospital all he thought about was that afternoon, about her confession, about the events of that night.

Forrest was uncertain as to whether he could ever speak to her about it.

They drop Forrest's body now, leaving him to fall freely, and he collapses against his car, slides down it, before he crashes down upon the dirty ground; despite his will to stand, to stop them from harming Maggie, to stop himself from failing Maggie, he feels the life draining from him as easily as the blood does.

The first time, he wasn't aware that Maggie had returned.

He faintly thought that he heard her voice, but he assumed that he must be dying, and he had hallucinated her up, or he was already dead, and she was his heaven. But this time is different, this time he knows that she is hear, that she is unaware, that she is about to be harmed, and he is useless, unhelpful, and to blame.

Maggie's car pulls in moments later.

Forrest curses himself, for he wishes she would just stay in her car, that she would drive the other way, drive as far away from here and as far away from this danger as possible, but instead she opens the car door, steps out, and walks up to the porch.

"Forrest?" Maggie calls out his name, her melodic voice is sweet in the silence, and he almost forgets why she is here, how she isn't entirely alone, and what awful fate awaits her just beyond those doors.

The first time Forrest had his throat cut, he was blissfully unaware.

He faintly heard Maggie's voice, and he was content with lying there, limp and lifeless on the dirt, while waiting for someone to show up; he was blissful because he was unaware, because he could hear _her_ voice, because he was content with waiting for death or for help, so long as her voice stayed with him.

The blood flowed easily from him, he felt farther away from Blackwater Station with each passing second, but he was OK, he was OK because he could hear her, she was surrounding him, and he wasn't alone. The snow began to fall down, around him and upon him, and he was relatively content with just staying there, in the dirt and the snow and the blood, because he had her.

Now, he knows that she isn't made up.

He has experienced this before, he has relived this night each night when he sleeps, and he knows how this plays out, he dreads where the story goes, and he needs, more than anything, to be able to change the ending. He needs Maggie to stop where she is, on the porch, and run back down to her car while she still has the chance to flee, to find happiness and life away from Franklin County.

Maggie starts to walk towards Forrest, to where he is collapsed, choking, bleeding out, and he longs to call out to her, but the words won't form, they make no sound, but that doesn't stop him from trying. He tries to stand, to lift a limb, to make a sound, a signal, catch her attention, but he is merely a voice inside of his own head now; he has no control over his body, his actions, his words, and he is no longer the one who decides how and if he moves.

She stops, turns, and steps inside the Station.

This is truly agonizing for Forrest, to have to be in a bloodied and broken heap outside, to be so completely and utterly useless, to have to be _aware_, alert, knowing and fearing, when last time he was so utterly unaware. He doesn't wish to think about how agonizing it would have been for Maggie, to have such a depraved and immoral act committed against her, to be violated in such a manner.

"Forrest?" She calls his name, one last time.

She doesn't appear to be unnerved by the darkness, the silence, the stillness, that has befallen the Station, because he knew that she felt safe around him and his brothers, but he supposes that was before, before they had failed her, let her down in one of the worst possible ways.

He calls back to her, but his words only resonate in his own mind.

Once he woke in the hospital, after the shoot-out, his thoughts have been consumed by this night.

The surrounding world darkens, Forrest's eyes fall shut against his will, and he needs to get to Maggie, now that he knows that she was real, now that he knows what fate awaits her, he has to get to her and undo all that has been done, prevent those horrors from ever happening.

But he can't get up.

When he found out what they did to her, to his Maggie, he knew then that he would never forgive himself; he was there, he was outside, a matter of steps away, and he still couldn't stop them, he still couldn't save her, and she had returned for _him_, she told Forrest that, and he hadn't been able to help her.

He only ever thinks about how he could have made a difference, how he should have made a different, how he could have and should have done something differently, anything, even just the smallest thing, to save her.

Forrest has trouble thinking about it, thinking about what they did to her, in his house, while he was outside, and he can't think about it, because it pains him, and yet it is all that he seems to think about nowadays.

He doesn't know how much time has passed, all he knows is that it is.

Maggie reappears outside.

She is broken and bleeding and coming to his rescue; she sees him, stumbles to his side, her entire body shakes as she does, and she drags his body over to her car. The first time, he had been too close to death, he had been on the very verge, and he wasn't able to register or remember any of this; but now, as he dreams of it, as he relives it, it is as though he is hyperaware of his surroundings, hyperaware of all that is occurring, and this is his punishment.

For what, he doesn't know, all he knows that he is indeed being punished.

In his mind, he is alive, strong, capable of protecting those around him, fighting those who pose a threat, but his body is dying, weakening with each passing second, and he is only capable of collapsing into a crumpled heap in Maggie's car.

It would have been horrid for Maggie, it would have been a terrible sight to see, and how awful a thing it would have been to do after the dreadful thing that she had just suffered; he watches, through the slits of his eyes, as she shuts the door on his side and runs, with unstable legs, to the driver's side.

She leans on the car, with one hand, for support, before she finds the door and slides inside; she starts it up, drives into town, and he didn't recall a single of moment of this when he woke up in the hospital after having his throat slit. Even afterwards, once he had returned back to the Station, and she had been there, he didn't recall a single thing.

But then he had found out.

Forrest had found out what those men had done, and, after the shoot-out, after he woke up in hospital and started to slowly recover from the bullet wounds, he had slowly, but surely, started to remember fragments of memories of that horrid night.

The pieces were beginning to fit together, and, although it wasn't a clear picture, a definite picture, he was still able to remember a great deal of it; what he mainly recalls is the sound of Maggie's sweet, shaky, sorrowful voice.

"Forrest." She cries his name. "You hold on, you hear me?"

He didn't hear it the first time, he swears that, somehow, he must have heard it, must have stored that piece away, because he did exactly that, he held onto the life that was slipping away and out of his bloodstained hands.

Tears escape down her cheeks as she drives into town.

She drives, with one hand on the wheel while the other is pressed against the deep gash that runs across Forrest's throat, ear-to-ear, and he knows this much because she told him, she said she held him together, tried her best to keep the blood from gushing out, and he was amazed not only by her strength but by her determination.

Forrest had assumed that he walked, but now that he knows otherwise, now that he knows that isn't true, whenever he thinks upon this night he envisions various versions of this night, of how she managed to muster the strength, and he can see now how she did it; he can see as she drags him outside, hear her chilling shrieks as she calls out for help, and he watches as they come to her assistance.

Maggie tells them how she found him.

He was staggering around aimlessly, deliriously, clumsily, outside, and he had walked all those miles from Blackwater Station, through mud and snow, with his throat slit from eat to ear. He wouldn't have remembered that, even if it were true, for all he can recall is having his throat slit, faintly hearing her voice, before drifting off, fading, dying, in a pool of his own blood, and waking up in a hospital bed any number of days, weeks, months after.

They clean him up - once he is inside the hospital - and they stitch him back together, he knows with full certainty that he wasn't conscious for this part the first time. Although he may appear to be unconscious at this time, his mind is awake, he is alert, his senses are still intact, and he is calling out for Maggie.

Forrest watches as Maggie enters the room, once all others have departed.

It is almost as though he is watching from the sidelines, for he can't reach her, can't touch her, can't speak to her, and he can't do or say a thing to stop her from leaving; she says soft and sad goodbyes, tears glisten in her eyes, and then she shuts the door behind her.

He calls out for her, but she can't leave him, and she leaves him behind.

"Maggie?" Forrest calls out for her.

This time, he _can_ hear the sound of his voice, it echoes loudly throughout the hospital room, and as he does his hand flies to his throat - which isn't sore in the slightest - and he looks down and sees that his throat isn't stitched up and covered with bloodied bandages, but his body is.

"That you, Maggie?" He asks, seconds before the door is about to close completely.

The door opens slowly, and from behind it appears a woman clad in a nurse's uniform. "No, Mr Bondurant." she says flatly, no sympathy whatsoever for his deluded state, before she exits once more and shuts the door coldly behind her.

Forrest doesn't need her sympathy, he doesn't need anyone's sympathy, he just needs Maggie.

He needs to see Maggie and make sure that she's safe; he kicks the sheets back off of his body and sighs, he worked up quite a sweat over something as silly as a dream, before he sits on the edge of the bed and stands with slightly shaky legs.

Forrest knows that he didn't get himself so worked up over a dream, but over the actual event; he dreamt it up, watched it all replay over in his head, but he didn't make it up, and it was every bit worse than the actual event because he had the hindsight to know exactly what was going to happen and because he felt useless for being unable to help Maggie.

He'll be glad to see Howard today, to find out how both he and Maggie are.

* * *

Maggie wakes alone in the bed, but not alone in the room.

She dreamt that she was with Forrest, that it was just the two of them somewhere, somewhere nice and secluded, and that they were safe here, and content with the course of their live's thus far, and there was no death here, no more pain and agony, only sweet seclusion.

She dreamt that Jack and Bertha married, that Howard found a lovely lady to finally settle down with, and that both the boys would come and visit - Jack by Bertha's side, and Howard by his wife's - and they'd look healthier, happier, better than Maggie had ever seen them look.

They would reminiscence on olds times, while being content with the way things were now.

Jack and Bertha had a son and a daughter, Howard and his wife had two boys and a girl, while Forrest had just the one baby girl. Maggie dreamt that when the time came, when it was just Forrest and Maggie, that they would live out the rest of their days together - just the two of them - and they would be content, knowing that they had each other.

But then she wakes, alone in the bed, _their_ bed, and, even though she isn't the only one in the bedroom, she hasn't felt as alone as she does now in an immeasurable amount of times; she is alone with herself, her mind, her body.

She wakes slowly, in what she assumes to be late afternoon, but she can't be certain as to what time of day it is - for the clouds that have been rolling in for what feels like weeks now have successfully concealed any rays of light outside - and she wakes to two faces, one familiar and one foreign.

Howard approaches Maggie's bedside hurriedly.

She blinks slowly, until her eyes finally focus on the stranger who examines her movements closely, in an almost critical manner, and as he observes her movements he pushes his glasses, which are slipping down his nose, up, before he takes a slow and methodical step forward.

The stranger watches her with a concern that she is unused to seeing, with the exception of the Bondurant brothers. He has cropped black hair, which is peppered grey, and a matching moustache that is equally dark.

"How are you feelin'?" The stranger inquires.

His eyes are soft as he asks, but Maggie turns to look at Howard instead.

"Caught up with Rodger as he was leavin'," Howard explains to her, "I sent him to town to get a doctor for you." he pauses and plays with the corner of his hat, which he holds awkwardly in his hands, before he gestures to the stranger with it and says, "This is John."

"You didn't have to do that, Howard." Maggie says softly, with a croaky voice.

"No…I did." Howard disagrees with her.

He had to, he had no choice but to, for he would never forgive himself if there was something terribly wrong with Maggie and he let her be without a doctor, he can't imagine what might have happened if he hadn't of sent Rodger into town for help.

"You sustained a minor concussion, Miss Beauford." The doctor, who Howard says is 'John', informs Maggie.

"You hit your head." Howard says slowly, almost solemnly, and the seriousness of his voice takes Maggie entirely by surprise; she hadn't expected him to take this all so seriously, she would have figured that he would be the one to not make a fuss out of things. "When you fell…you fell down the stairs." he says the last part almost like she isn't quite grasping the seriousness of it all.

"Oh." Maggie says, as she suddenly starts to recall the unanticipated events of that morning. "_Oh_." she says again, as she puts a shaky hand to the cut on her temple.

"It's a superficial wound." Doctor John nods towards her, he nods in the direction of the cut on her forehead that is just above her temple.

Maggie doesn't wince and pull her hand away, even though it stings, because she's endured worse.

"You won't require stitches," The Doctor continues. "It's only minor. It'll heal on its own."

Maggie knows that she ought to be quite thankful and feeling more than relieved, but all she can think about now is what Forrest will think, when he finds out about all of this, and he surely will, what with that Rodger fella going in town to find a doctor for her; the word will spread around town like wildfire that the woman from Chicago has caught the Bondurant brother's curse.

"You're very lucky, Miss Beauford." Doctor John tells her, she knows that she is; but she doesn't feel it.

Maggie doesn't feel very lucky, and she doesn't mean to be wallowing in self-pity or anything like that, but it's just that she feels exactly how she did the other night when she burst into a bout of tears in front of Howard; the only difference now is that she tumbled down a set of stairs, sustained a minor concussion, gained a few small bruises and cuts here and there, and, to top it all off, she feels guilt ridden and ill.

She feels ill, as though her unsettled stomach is going to turn on her at any given moment, and she also feels exhausted, like her body is merely a bag of bones and that, if it came down to it, she wouldn't be able to lift herself up from this bed, and she feels incredibly sore.

To add to that, she can't help but feel guilty, for not telling Forrest she was feeling ill, for making Howard promise not to, for making Howard fret and worry like this, and for overcomplicating their already complicated situation.

When word gets back to Forrest on this - because it surely will - there will be no explaining it to him, because once Forrest has made up his mind, once he's set on what it is he's going to do or say, it is extremely difficult to deter him from that path.

Maggie had tried to reason with Forrest, when he had left - not for the shoot-out, but when he had left in search of the men who had slit his throat from ear to ear - Maggie had tried to stop him, because even after what they had done to him and what they had done to her - he still didn't know of it at that point in time - she still didn't wish for him to get their blood on his hands, or on his conscience for that matter.

But he wouldn't hear a word of it.

She wanted those men dead, too, just as much as Forrest did - if not more - but what she wanted more was for Forrest to not have to play a part in it. From what she knew, from what she had heard, Forrest Bondurant didn't just have speckles of blood on his hands; his hands were soaked with blood.

He refused to listen, he wouldn't hear a word that she said, and he had easily dismissed her pleas with small grunts as she followed his footsteps down the staircase. Howard was in the car, eagerly awaiting Forrest's arrival, when what Maggie said next stopped Forrest from stepping outside.

"They ain't worth it, Forrest." Maggie said quietly.

He didn't respond immediately, but Maggie knew that he had heard her speak; for he paused in his steps, faltered, hesitated, before he stopped movements of any sort, as he prepared a response. He turned, ever so slowly, to his right. He turned, only so he was able to catch a glimpse of her out of he corner of his eye, and he saw that she stood tall.

Maggie stood tall, in a pair of brown slack and a pink and white floral shirt, but instead of her usual air of confidence there was instead an air of uncertainty and hesitancy to her; it was there, present in the way that she spoke, the way that she moved closer towards him, almost timidly, and that told him that there was something that she wasn't telling him.

There was something she was purposely omitting.

He sensed that there was something that she was keeping to herself, something that she was deliberately keeping from others, but he wasn't one to pry into the private life of another, especially Maggie's; she wasn't his, in any way or form, and he had no right to demands answers or explanations from her.

Finally, Forrest turned to face her completely.

He moved slowly, and his features were deceptively calm and placid, despite the ire that only grew inside of him as though upon how those men had pulled a gun on Maggie all the while he was sitting in the very next room, and he knew that they deserved to die.

They deserved to die for that, and for slitting his throat, ambushing him, rendering him defenceless - something that he rarely was - and he strongly believed that they deserved to be killed, to have their deaths drawn out painful, to cause them to writhe in agony, as Forrest did, and they deserved to be punished for threatening Maggie with a weapon.

"I ain't so sure 'bout that." Forrest replied slowly, calmly, because he didn't know.

He didn't know then, what he knows now; he didn't know, he was oblivious and blind, he had no idea, no inclination, he was completely unaware. He didn't know what they did to her, how she came back that night, how they hurt her, how, afterwards, she dragged his broken body to her car and drove him into town.

Forrest turned to leave, because he disagreed with Maggie; he was going to kill those men, because they threatened her, because they cowardly ambushed him, and they were deserving of it.

"Forrest, wait." Maggie called out after him.

And so Forrest waited, he stopped, but didn't turn to face her.

He waited, until she spoke up again, her voice quiet and almost meek, "It doesn't have to be like this, Forrest. It doesn't have to go this way."

Forrest turned slowly to face her, surprised to see that she had closed the remaining distance between them, and was only a step or two in front of him, before he disagreed, "No...uh...no it does."

"It doesn't." She said again.

He knew that this was the only way.

"They…uh…they threatened you." Forrest said slowly, his calm and collected composure was beginning to slip away as he thought back on the events of that night.

Those men had pulled a weapon on Maggie, and she'd been forced to do the same to them; he didn't let himself think about what things could have happened had he not have been there, what they could have done to her, and it was unimaginable.

"And...they…pulled a weapon…on _you_." he said the words with difficulty.

Forrest didn't like the way that they sounded to his own ears, the way that they tasted bitter and almost metallic on his tongue; the words were somehow even slower, and they sounded more dangerous this way; the more drawn out they were, the deadlier they sounded.

"They ain't worth it, Forrest." Maggie told him, for the second time that night, and for the second time that night he strongly disagreed. "You don't have to do this." she added, but there was no convincing Forrest or changing his mind once he had it set a certain way. "You don't."

Forrest blinked for a moment, a slight frown formed on his features as he said, "Don't tell me that they ain't worth it, Maggie." he said quietly, his voice low and gravelly.

As Maggie opened her mouth to protest, Forrest spoke over her.

"They…were goin' to…hurt…_you_." Forrest drew out the words, like she didn't understand what they would have done to her if they had gotten the chance to; he was blind then, but not by his own fault, but because Maggie purposely kept him in the dark.

"So this…this is the way that it's gotta be. Like this." Forrest paused, he looked deep in thought, before he licked his bottom lip once and then said, in a slightly softer tone, "Ain't no other way, Maggie."

With that, Forrest turned away from Maggie.

He ignored the flash of what he assumed to be disappointment in her eyes, and he turned his back on her; it was when he reached the door that she spoke up again, voice soft and uncertain as she said, "You told Jack once...that it is not the violence that sets men apart."

Forrest faltered, he had one hand one the door, he was ready to push it over and leave, when Maggie's words caught him by surprise, caught him off guard, and caught him; they held him in place, as he waited, waited for her next words, waited to see where she was going with this.

Upon receiving no verbal response, Maggie continued. "It is the distance-"

"That he is willing to go." Forrest finished Maggie's sentence, before he turned to look at her, and he seemed to be looking past her rather than directly at her. "How'd you hear that?"

"Jack told me."

"Uh…mmm" Forrest murmured. "Course he did."

"You were wrong, Forrest." Maggie told him quietly, but he disagreed.

It didn't feel wrong to Forrest, it didn't sound wrong to Forrest, to want to rightfully extract revenge on those who had not only caused extreme discomfort and physical pain to you but threatened to do the same to another; revenge and retaliation seemed perfectly fairin Forrest's mind.

Forrest turned away from Maggie once more, rather than disagreeing with her.

"The violence _is_ what sets men apart." She continued, despite Forrest physically turning his back on her and this conversation; she followed Forrest's footsteps, unwilling to give up on him so easily, her voice was close enough that Forrest had felt her breathe on the back of his neck.

Forrest remained silent.

He wasn't ignoring her, he just wasn't responding; he wasn't sure how to, what was he supposed to tell her? He wasn't changing his mind on the matter, he knew what he was going to do the very second that they had pressed that jagged blade to his throat.

"Is that so?" Forrest asked before he could stop the words from slipping out.

"It is." Maggie said slowly, and what she said next made Forrest feel as though he had taken a forceful blow to the stomach or had his throat slit all over again, "The violence separates the men from the monsters."

Forrest recoiled away from the painful thought that tugged at his mind, the one that taunted him and told him that Maggie thought of him as a monster, and, without another word and without showing any sign of acknowledgement that he had heard her, Forrest walked away from Maggie.

Forrest walked away.

He didn't spare a glance over his shoulder, not once did he turn to look back at her, not even as she called out his name after him, and he'd never show, or never let her now, how much her words had stung him. He walked away from her and the option she gave him, of not resorting to violence, and he walked over towards Howard; to embrace the only life he had ever known; a life of violence.

"Miss Beauford?" The Doctor inquires, upon seeing how Maggie has been staring off into nothing for the past few moments.

"I-I know, I'm lucky." Maggie stammers, and she can't help the way that her voice comes out all shaky as she shakes away the thoughts from that night.

She feels Howard's eyes on her now, concern brews in them, as it always does lately, and she tries to sit up straighter; the sheets cling to her small frame as she props herself up against the wall behind her, and her body feels significantly weaker than it had earlier, just before her fall, and she wonders just why that is.

"Aside from the minor cuts and bruises you sustained from the fall, you're just fine Maggie." Doctor John promises her, he smiles briefly before he asks her, in a more methodical and professional tone, "I have to ask, has this happened before?"

"No." Maggie answers in the same moment that Howard says a soft "Yes."

Maggie pushes the sheets back off of her as she says, "No.

The Doctor looks unconvinced, as he looks away from Maggie and instead turns to face Howard, whose eyes are focused on the floorboards, before he asks Howard, in a serious yet soft tone, "Has this happened before?"

"She's been sick." Howard says quietly, he manages to draw his eyes away from the floorboards and up to the doctor, known only as John, and he won't dare look at Maggie, not as he betrays her.

"Howard." Maggie objects; but he doesn't seem to hear her.

"And-and she's had these-these bouts of-of-" Howard stammers, and stops abruptly; he gestures to his own head with two fingers, and does some sort of circular motion with them as he tries to find the proper word for it. But to his own frustration, he can't seem to find the word; and nothing frustrates him more than having the doctor supply the word for him, as though Howard is too damn stupid to finish a sentence of his own.

"Dizziness?" The Doctor says, and turns to Maggie for confirmation. "You've been experience dizzy spells?"

"Can't you take my word for it, doc?" Howard asks and unanticipated anger and annoyance floods into his words.

"I can." The Doctor tells him, without turning to look at him, and Howard knows that he's just doing his job but the doctor isn't the one who has witnessed Maggie suffering from being sick and from these 'dizzy spells' day in and day out. "But, Miss Beauford _is_ the patient."

Miss Beauford may be the patient, Howard thinks, but she is also the one who wants to cover this up as quickly as is possible and with as less fuss; Howard won't let her deteriorate any further, she is already ill enough as it is.

"You think I don't know that, huh?" Howard inches forward, towards the doctor, with a slightly menacing look on his face. "I've been the one watchin' as she suffered. Not you."

"Howard," The Doctor says in a passive tone, which only serves to frustrate Howard further, as he turns to face Howard. "I understand that you're worried for your friend here, but she is goin' to be just fine so long as she keeps hydrated, eats regularly and rests."

"That all?" Howard frowns.

He had automatically assumed the worst, he had believed the dizzy spells and the sickness to be symptoms of something much more serious, something much more sinister, and he sighs, feeling more than relieved that it's not.

"That's all." The Doctor agrees and turns back to Maggie.

"Oh." Maggie breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you, doctor, I can't tell you how good it is to hear that."

Howard shoots Maggie a brief smile, his eyes are guilty as he does, before the doctor turns towards him and says, "Might I just have a moment alone with Miss Beauford here, Howard?"

Howard looks hesitant to leave, he turns to Maggie for confirmation, for approval that it's OK, and she simply nods at him, a small smile on his lips, before he steps outside into the hallway and shuts the bedroom door behind him.

"Now, Miss Beauford, I understand you've been experiencin' dizzy spells?"

"Yes?" Maggie replies slowly, she doesn't understand why he's questioning her on matters that they've already spoken of.

"And you've been feelin' ill?" he asks, and Maggie has the urge to throw something at him; he's speaking to her slowly, like she may not have properly comprehended a word of the previous conversation that had just taken place.

"Yes."

"For how long?" he asks, and her frustration reaches its peak.

"I-I don't know." Maggie stammers, and puts a hand to her forehead. "A few weeks, I spose'. Longer, maybe, a month? Why? I thought we figured this all out?"

"I didn't want to say this in front of Howard," The doctor tells her slowly. "It is yours news to tell, after all."

"What news?" Maggie asks, and drops her hand away from her forehead; she drags her eyes up to the doctors, she tries to ignore the way that he looks at her, almost sympathetically, his mouth opens and closes like a fish for a moment before he finds the voice to tell her.

"You're pregnant, Miss Beauford."

* * *

**A/N: **I know that this is a bulky chapter, but I didn't want to cut any of it out.

In regards to Maggie's pregnancy, I am not entirely certain as to how they would determine it back then, but I did do some research (I don't recommend that you do, it involves rabbits and it isn't all that pleasant) so I am just going out on a limb here, and saying that her symptoms are evidence enough.

Thank you to all you lovely readers, and my amazing sibling who helps me make senses of things, you all deserve a medal or a golden star of sorts! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed :)

Remember, any sort of feedback is more than welcome.

**And**, I'd just like to say that, for all of you who have been affected by Sandy in any way, my thoughts and prayers are with you during this difficult time. Australia is thinking of you.

**X  
**


	6. Hear The Thunder

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy.

There is a storm coming.

The dark clouds, which have been rolling in for what seems like weeks now, rumble loudly over Blackwater Station. They have been hanging over Franklin County, like a bad omen, ever since Forrest Bondurant didn't return back to Blackwater Station, following the events of the shoot-out.

Doctor John congratulates Maggie.

Her mouth goes dry, she can't form any proper, coherent words, let along a string a sentence together; she can't feel anything, other than the bile rising in the back of her throat, and she simply nods along as the doctor gives her strict orders.

Doctor John tells her that she _has_ to stay in bed, in order to fully regain her strength and her health - not just for her own sake, but for the baby's - and he assures her that she and the baby are just fine from the fall, that there were no signs to suggest otherwise, that there was no bleeding, no damage sustained to her stomach, and nothing to suggest that the baby has been injured.

Maggie feels relatively fine, aside from the fatigue, and the soreness she sustained from her fall. The doctor tells her that if she experiences any feelings that cause her any degree of concern or discomfort to not refrain from sending Howard into town to fetch him, or from coming into the hospital herself, for would be more than happy to see to her.

After the doctor's departure, Maggie stays in bed for the remainder of the day.

She pulls the sheets back, climbs underneath them, and pulls them up above her head - like she used to when she was a child, when the world outside her bedroom door was just too daunting to face - and she stays there, hidden, hiding, pretending that she is some place else.

Maggie stays in bed for the rest of the day, night, and for the three days and nights that follow.

Howard is never too far away, he sits outside of her room of a night, by her closed bedroom door - just so she knows that she is safe, just so she knows that Howard is there, even if he is awful at comfort - and he is stumped as to whether he should be congratulating her or giving her his condolences.

He brings her food and water each day.

For every meal, he sits down silently, right by her bedside, and makes sure that she consumes it all before he leaves her be, leaves her alone with her thoughts and her baby. He can't imagine how agonizing this all must be for Maggie, how traumatized she must feel, after all that she was forced to suffer, after all that they did to her, all that they took, all they did to Forrest, and now she might be carrying one of those monsters baby's.

He doesn't know how she can handle it.

Honestly, he doesn't believe that she is handling it, so he knocks on her door, on the fifth morning, to check up on her, to bring her breakfast. Although the door is slightly ajar, Howard can't see her face, not from where he stands.

"Maggie?" Howard calls out her name

When she doesn't reply, he is quickly concerned and alarmed.

He doubts that Maggie is sleeping, even though she desperately needs to, so when she doesn't respond he gets worried; he apologizes loudly for entering her room so abruptly, by saying, "Sorry, Maggie, but I'm comin' in." a few seconds before he uses his shoulder to push the door open the rest of the way.

Howard enters the room slowly.

She has her back to him, she doesn't acknowledge that he spoke, doesn't make any sound or show any sign that she heard him, and so he inches closer to her bedside.

"Maggie?" Howard asks softly, anxiously, and he sees that he has startled her.

Her body jolts, ever so slightly, at the sound of his voice.

"Yes, Howard?" Maggie answers belatedly.

She still doesn't turn around to face him.

"You alright, Maggie?" Howard asks with genuine concern.

He's never been more worried for her well being.

"I'm fine, Howard." She reassures him, but it's all a lie.

Howard continues to approach her bedside, with a plate of breakfast in his left hand and a mug of fresh water in his right hand, and he places the plate softly down on the floor, the mug down beside it, before he straightens back up and removes his hat.

"Do you need anythin'?" He asks, unsure of how he's supposed to help her.

He doesn't know how to comfort, console, help, how to make her feel better, he doesn't know how to do anything other than just stand there, silently and stupidly, feeling like an idiot. He doesn't know what words are supposed to fix this, he doesn't even know if a situation like this can be fixed.

"No thanks, Howard." Maggie replies, and he sounds every bit as sorrowful as he knows she feels.

Howard wrings his hat between his hands, to the point where he is surprised that he hasn't ripped it in two, before he tells Maggie tentatively, "I'm goin' to see Forrest today."

At this, Maggie moves.

Maggie sits up in bed, she looks dishevelled and almost as though she is in a daze, her eyes are glazed over, crimson red around the edges, from all the tears that he knows she has shed, and bloodshot from all the sleep he knows that she has been desperately been trying to catch up on.

"I made breakfast." Howard tells her, and the he curses himself silently for stating the obvious.

"You're-you're going to see Forrest?" Maggie asks as she closes her eyes and puts a hand to her forehead, a slight frown graces her pale features as she closes her eyes and presses one hand against her temple; her head is pounding, and she just wants the pain to cease.

"Yes." Howard replies quietly, he sits down on the floor near her breakfast. "Jack, too."

She opens her eyes slowly and glances at the plate of food, she wrinkles her nose at the food, she still hasn't got much of an appetite these days, before she turns her attention back to Howard; her eyes look dull, empty, and Howard notices that they look much emptier than they did when Forrest didn't come home after the shoot-out.

"When does Jack come back?" She asks.

Maggie attempts to sound joyful about Jack's return, but instead voice sounds just as lifeless as her eyes look.

"Tomorrow." Howard tells her, his voice is just as quiet and as passive as hers.

Today is the fifth day since Maggie received the news and yet it feels like months have passed rather than mere days. Each day is more drawn out than the last, each day is a little bit more painful, unbearable and unbelievable, and Howard can't even begin to imagine how exhausted Maggie must be feeling.

"Good." Maggie replies.

She is secretly thankful that it's Jack coming home tomorrow and not Forrest.

It's not that Maggie doesn't want to see Forrest anytime soon, because she does, she misses him and wants nothing more than for him to have a speedy recovery, it's more that she doesn't know how she is going to be able to face Forrest after all that has occurred during his absence.

Maggie can't even face Howard without feeling overwhelmed by it all.

She feels weak, guilty, repulsed, confused, angered, distressed, distraught, disgusting, exhausted, confused again, and she would be incapable of hiding any of that from Forrest should he return home and be in the bed beside her.

Jack is on strict bed rest, Howard had mentioned that days earlier, so Maggie doubts that he'll be running around anytime soon, asking questions and wanting to know everything that there is to know - otherwise Howard will ship him back off to the hospital faster than he can blink - and at least she will be able to rest without feeling the heavy weight of eyes upon her.

Howard has grown protective, since both of his brother's absences, and he won't allow for Jack to be aimlessly wandering around the place, not until he is as good as new again, for he doesn't want Jack to get hurt and he doesn't want to fail his family again.

Maggie consumes her breakfast slowly.

She doesn't glance up at Howard, she finds that she can't look at him, even though she can feel his eyes flicker over her features each time she takes a small bite of her breakfast, because she feels too guilty, too ashamed.

When he looks at her, Howard can see how the unknown is gnawing away at her, the uncertainty is killing her, and he can see the hidden pain that lurks beneath her eyes that are glazed with denial. Maggie refuses to speak of it, to acknowledge it, and Howard won't push her, he can't, so he won't be the one to say the first word on it.

Maggie barely slept last night.

She tried to, but her thoughts were incessant, persistent, unwavering, as they nagged at her, and when she had finally fallen asleep, in the early hours of the morning, she had dreamt of sweet things; she dreamt that she and Forrest had moved to a secluded area, a quaint and simple little house by a lake, and she dreamt up similar things from days earlier.

Maggie Beauford has never been a dreamer.

She has always known what was real and what was pure fantasy, how to differ between the two, what was healthy and what was unhealthy, but she allowed herself to have this; she allowed herself to drift off, to dream sweet dreams, and, although she has never been a dreamer, last night she let herself dream up a different life, where there was no suffering, no pain, her loved ones would never have to hurt, and when she woke there was a part of her that wished that she wouldn't.

When Maggie is done, she places her plate down on the floor, beside the mattress, but seconds later Howard picks it back up, puts it down on the mattress beside her, and gives her a look, a look that says he isn't giving up easily. Maggie repeats her first action, she places the plate down on the floor by the mattress, and Howard just picks it right back up and puts it down by her side again.

She glances up, sees that his eyes are both stern but soft, and he nods towards her plate, the plate with the food left on it, and so she finishes her breakfast. She takes small sips of water in between bites, and Howard only agrees to leave her be one she's finished the whole mug.

Once she is finished, Maggie thanks Howard quietly.

She rolls back over in bed, turns her back on him, and Howard can't help but feel even more useless, more so than he had before he came in here. He had all of this time to talk to her, to check on her, to see how she was, and now he wouldn't see her until he got back from visiting Forrest and Jack; a lot could happen in the space of a few moments, let alone the space of a few hours, especially if someone was in such as state as Maggie is.

Howard puts his hat back on, collects up the plate, the cutlery, the mug, before he turns to leave; he falters at the door, though, and finds that his feet won't move him forward. He swallows noisily, he is unsure as to how he should voice his concern, as he glances at Maggie from over his shoulder.

He says nothing, but silently scolds himself for being so unhelpful.

Howard is so damn sick of feeling useless, worthless, like a failure, but he doesn't know how to fix himself, how to fix his faults, his failures, and he isn't sure how he is supposed to fix any of this. If it wasn't for Howard failing Forrest that night, then none of this would have happened; Forrest wouldn't have had his throat cut and Maggie wouldn't be bedridden with a baby whose father could be one of three.

Maybe, just maybe, a different course of events could have unravelled.

Perhaps both Jack and Forrest wouldn't be in hospital right now, recovering from bullet wounds, they'd be home instead, and Maggie wouldn't be weak and bedridden, and maybe, just maybe, innocent Cricket Pate mightn't be dead.

No one would have had to suffer - not Maggie, not Forrest, not Jack - and no one would be irrevocably damaged, and it is all because of Howard, and he despises himself every bit more with each step he takes away from Maggie.

As he closes the door behind him, he reflects on how Maggie delivered the news to him, about the baby, and how he was pathetic and weak and he couldn't find a single word to say, he didn't say anything to console her.

* * *

Maggie listens carefully, she waits patiently, until she hears Howard leave; and that's the moment that she chooses to break down, to shatter, to crumble and fall. She didn't let herself break entirely, not with Howard still present, and even though she had cried in front of him, before she found out, that was nothing compared to this.

Loud, painful sobs shake throughout her body; awful sounds scratch her throat to shreds, tear her to pieces on the inside, on their way out of her dry, cracked lips, that are stained with salty tears from days earlier. She cries until she no longer has any tears left in her, and then she cries some more; she sobs like she never has before, and like she never will again.

Maggie won't ever allow for another see her in such a shattered state; especially not another Bondurant brother.

* * *

Howard leaves again.

He leaves, like he did when she told him the news, and he knows that he will always remember that day, the day that Maggie told him that she was carrying a child, and that she didn't know who the father was, he knows that it will be a day that will incessantly haunt him.

Howard had listened to the doctor intently, as he lead him downstairs, outside, and stepped down the front stairs with him. Maggie needed to rest, it was paramount that she did, and she needed to stay hydrated, to eat regularly, and Howard swore that he would ensure that she would.

Doctor John told Howard that she had to, otherwise she was in grave danger of falling ill, and that she was already weakened, she couldn't risk getting any weaker.

Howard thanked the doctor, for coming to see Maggie, before he stepped back inside and locked the doors. He headed back upstairs slowly, knocked on Maggie's door lightly, before he entered; she was curled up underneath the sheets, they were pulled up over her head, as Howard approached her bedside.

"What's wrong?" Howard question.

He was puzzled as to why she wasn't rejoicing over the good news that the doctor had just delivered, that she was in good health, that all she needed was to rest, drink eat, and she would be as right as rain, as good as new, and yet here she was, hiding, weeping, mourning, as though she had just been delivered the worst possible news imaginable.

"Doc said you were goin' to be just fine." Howard stated.

He watched on, with both confusion and concern, as Maggie's body shook with tremors underneath the sheets; he stepped closer, towards her bedside, with large and worried strides, before he crouched down and tugged lightly at the sheets which she had pulled up and over her head.

"Maggie." He asked, but she remained silent, aside from the sad sound of her small sounds.

Howard tugged at the sheets, again, and she finally allowed for him to pull them back from her face, revealing that, somehow, she looked even paler than she had moments earlier; she looked terrified, like she had seen a ghost or something, but he knew that couldn't be so, for Maggie was fearless.

"What is it?"

Maggie remained silent, she continued to shake with sobs that had turned silent, and she put a hand across her closed mouth, almost as though she was stifling the cries, almost as though she was embarrassed, and trying to hold the sounds in, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut

"Maggie?" Howard softly called her name, he was now both concerned and scared for her, for her well being, and he could only fret over what terrible news the doctor had delivered to cause her to become this distraught so quickly, when she had been so relieved only moments earlier.

She shook her head in response.

Maggie was shaking away the thoughts, the memories, the truth, because it was unbearable; she couldn't stand them, couldn't process them she didn't want them, need them, like them, what she wanted was to find the doctor and make him take all of his words back.

"I'm pregnant, Howard." Maggie said between silent sobs.

Howard opened his mouth to congratulate her.

But then he thought better of it; he thought about the reasons why she was sobbing, and then he didn't know whether he should offer his congratulations or his condolences; he didn't know which she would rather hear, he didn't know how she felt on the matter, he didn't want to anger her or cause her further distress.

All he could manage was a name.

"Forrest?"

Maggie couldn't open her eyes, she couldn't face Howard, she could barely breathe as she uttered the next dreadful, awful, agonizing words. "I don't know." She said, as she drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, before continuing, with tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "I don't. I don't know."

She started to become distraught.

Her entire body shook with the force of her silent sobs, as she cried into her hands. "I don't-I don't know if he's—if he's…" she stammered, and she didn't need to say another word, for Howard unfortunately knew what she meant, he knew why she was crying, why she couldn't say another word on the matter, and why she needed to be alone.

Howard tried to console her; he reached out, to place a gentle hand on her arm to steady her shaking body, but she pushed his hand away and pleaded for him to leave. "Please." she cried. "Just go." and he did, because he couldn't deny her, he had to give her this.

He staggered downstairs, to the bar, to the liquor that he knew was stashed behind it, while Maggie curled up underneath the sheets again, and deliriously pretended that she was living in a quaint little house by the lakeside.

* * *

Forrest had fallen asleep to thoughts of his sweet Maggie.

When he woke up, he woke with fears for her.

He hasn't heard a word from home, not in days, he hasn't seen a familiar face either; although he had told Howard to go home and to stay home - apart from when he has to return to pick up Jack - all of this endless time spent in isolation, spent in the confinement of these four walls, has caused Forrest's mind to wonder and worry over his family.

Forrest can hear footsteps coming down the hallway, leading to his room, and he'd know those footsteps just about anywhere. "Howard..." Forrest grumbles to himself, as he starts to straighten up, prop himself up, all the while listening intently, hoping to catch the sound of Maggie's footsteps following Howard's.

He supposes that his fears for his family are somewhat irrational, and, to a small degree, unnecessary. Forrest frets for Maggie mostly, even though she has always been quite capable of taking care of herself, and when he sees the dark clouds that hover over the town, the town that is tantalizingly close, just below his window, and he sees the grim look that is plastered on Howard's face, he can't help but feel as though something has gone terribly wrong.

"Forrest." Howard nods, in acknowledgement, towards Forrest.

He is tucked up in the hospital bed, Howard sees this as he enters the room slowly, and he still looks relatively exhausted. Howard steps inside the room, with a solemn look set on his face, before he takes off his hat, and stands by the end of the bed; he doesn't make any other movements, or say any other words, that may suggest that he intends on staying long.

"Haven't head a word in days." Forrest states, as he pulls the hospital sheets back off of his body. He isn't asking, he's telling Howard, telling his older brother that he hasn't heard a word in days, and he would like to know if anything has transpired during his absence.

Howard hesitates before he answers.

When he answers, he keeps his eyes down low, glued to the floor, as he softly says, "Been a lil' busy. That's all."

Forrest doesn't believe his brother for a second.

He doesn't believe Howard, not with the way that he is acting, not with the way that he anxiously plays with the corner of his hat, and avoids making direct eye contact with Forrest. "That all?" Forrest checks, and all Howard does is nod in response.

Howard can't keep Maggie out of his thoughts.

He keeps thinking about her, about how he's left her back at Blackwater Station, all by herself, and how he should be there, how someone should be there, even though the doctor had told him that there was no need to hover around her all day, and all that Howard could do to help was ensure that she would eat, drink and sleep when she was supposed to.

"Sit down, Howard." Forrest says, he isn't asking.

Howard finally looks up.

When he does, he sees that there are more than a dozen bloodied bandages scattered across Forrest's bare chest, and that's when the guilt for _that_ kicks in, the guilt for being the only Bondurant brother to not get shot, to not end up in hospital, the guilt for being the only one out of the three of them who wasn't even grazed.

Howard complies, he takes a seat by Forrest's beside, because he owes his brother that much. "How are you you feelin'?" Howard asks, as he briefly glances around the hospital room.

"I'm alright." Forrest mumbles, for he isn't concerned with his own wellbeing, not at all, not at this point in time, or he is more worried about Maggie and her whereabouts, and just what's got his brother so damn shifty and tongue tied simultaneously.

Howard remains silent for a moment.

He starts to wring his hat between his hands, as he thinks about all that he's not supposed to say, all that he's hiding from Forrest, before the silence begins to be too much and he blurts out, "Jack's comin' home tomorrow."

"I know." Forrest replies.

Jack won't shut up about it. Forrest doubts that there is a single person in town who doesn't know that Jack Bondurant is going home tomorrow. Forrest wishes that he was also going home, for he doesn't care much for it here, he doesn't like this room, he doesn't like what his room represents, and he doesn't care much for the confinement of these four white walls.

He would much rather be back home, in his own bed, under his own roof.

"I'll take care of him, Forrest." Howard declares as he continues to wring his hat between his hands, and, for some odd reason, this frustrates Forrest; all this secretiveness, shiftiness, and all this staying quiet for days and having no proper reason for it angers Forrest.

"I know." Forrest murmurs.

"Promise I will." Howard says and it is as though he's trying to convince himself more than he is trying to convince Forrest that he is capable of taking care of someone, it is as though he has to keep telling himself in order to start believing it, in order to start being capable of doing it.

"And Maggie?" Forrest asks.

Howard visibly falters.

Forrest waits, licks his bottom lip once, before he asks, "Are you takin' care of her?"

All Howard does to respond to Forrest's question is nod briskly.

"Howard." Forrest says his name slowly, and it sounds almost menacing, the way that Forrest draws it out, but he still doesn't manage to draw Howard's attention up and away from that hat in his hands. Forrest is somewhat surprised to see that Howard hasn't torn the damn thing to shreds already, what with the way that he continues to wring it in his hands, his hands that Forrest notices to be slightly shaking.

Howard scratches at his neck, then turns his attention back to his hat.

"Look at me, Howard." Forrest demands, but the eldest Bondurant brother still continues to evade making direct eye contact, for fear that Forrest will see straight through him, see straight through this act, this appearance, and discover all that is being hidden.

Forrest can't help but reflect on a similar conversation; this conversation makes his skin crawl when he thinks about it, and it had occurred moments before he left with Howard, to follow Jack to the bridge, and it was with Maggie. It had consisted of those three words: _look at me_._  
_

Maggie pulled her pale dressing gown tighter around her body, as she stepped towards Forrest, and asked, "What are you doin'?" she saw that he wore his usual cardigan and hat, and she also noticed that he had a rifle grasped tightly in his hands.

She feared what this symbol, she feared what it meant; death.

"Well, Jack's gone off." Forrest told her bluntly, and that was the only explanation that he offered her, he said not a single word more on the matter, and this deeply frustrated Maggie.

"That's it then?" Maggie asked, she sounded both concerned and annoyed, but she was interrupted; for seconds after she had spoken, Howard had burst up stairs and prevented Forrest from giving her any sort of reply.

"Forrest!" Howard shouted, as he flew up the stairs.

The eldest Bondurant brother stepped into the room, to inform Forrest of what he already knew - for he had stood at the window, watching on as his younger brother sped off down the tracks that lead away from Blackwater Station, and he knew then that this would be when they would make their last stand against Rakes - but Howard continued on unknowingly.

His eyes were as wild as the forestry outside the station, "Forrest! Jack done took off with Cricket's car!" Howard exclaimed, as he reached the two of them, and Forrest spared brief glance towards Howard's direction.

"I know, Howard!" Forrest said, because he'd seen it all unravel moments earlier. "Go fetch the car!"

"He got trouble written all over him!" Howard shouted back over his shoulder, as he ran back downstairs to do as Forrest asked of him, and that was when Maggie had turned back toward Forrest.

The fear and the frustration that she felt was evident in her eyes, but not in her voice as she said firmly, almost angrily, "I gotta watch you die all over again." and it wasn't a question, it was a statement, something that she didn't seem the least bit impressed about.

"What are you talkin' about?" Forrest had frowned; he didn't know, he didn't understand.

"I gotta find you, lying in a pool of your own blood?" Maggie asked, she got more frustrated and fearful with each sentence that she uttered that remained her of that god awful night. "Drag your damn body to my car?" She had continued, but it still hadn't sunken in for Forrest. "Drive you down to the hospital with your throat cut from ear to ear?"

"Did you do that?" He asked, for he only remembered fragments of memories of that night, shades of memories, blurs, bits and pieces here and there, how could he have known? He couldn't have, but he should have, he knew that something was wrong, he just couldn't pinpoint what that something was.

Forrest was blind to what Maggie was trying to show him, he was deaf to what she was trying to tell him; he had been for weeks, but through no fault of his own, because Maggie had purposely kept him in the dark, she had kept him out.

Now, she was trying to tell him, to let him in, and this was the only way that she could tell Forrest; she knew that, once he gave it a moment, what she was trying to spell out to him would soon make sense, he just had to let the words sink in.

"I'm not doin' it again." She declared.

Maggie had sworn that she wouldn't do it again, because she didn't have it in her, to do it all over again, but, if it came down to it, she knew that she would; she didn't possess the strength to do it, but she'd do it anyway. If it meant that she was helping Forrest, if it meant that she was saving Forrest, she would do anything.

"I thought I walked." Forrest said, because that honestly what he had believed.

Forrest had woken, days later, in the hospital; his last thoughts were of getting his throat slit, before all was engrossed in darkness. He thought that he heard voices, a sweet melody playing in the background, as he lay in a broken heap in the snow and the dirt and the blood, but that was all that he could recall.

When he woke, he was told that he walked, all the way from Blackwater Station, and he didn't question it, he didn't push the matter any further; because even though he didn't know how he did it - how he managed to walk all those miles from Blackwater Station, in the snow, with his throat cut from ear to ear - but he didn't question it.

Forrest had the will to walk to town.

He had the will to live, to fight, to wait.

When he was lying in the snow, in a pool of his own blood, he wanted nothing more than to stand, to fight, to walk, but he had thought that he would surely die; but that didn't stop him from fighting, so he guessed that his will to live was what had saved him.

"Ain't that just like you," Maggie said, sounding unimpressed, and Forrest hadn't the faintest idea as to what she was referring to, but he remained silent regardless. "To believe your own damn legend…"

That was when it began to sink in for Forrest.

"Wait a minute..." Forrest faltered, a slight frown on his features, as he asked an awful question, a dreaded question, a question that he didn't want to ask. "You came back there that night?"

All Maggie could do was nod in response.

Forrest felt something inside of him - something awfully painful - snap, break, burn, scar, at the very thought that Maggie came back here that night, when those monsters were probably still lurking around. He could only what horrible events might have ensued had they found her, if they had come across her when she returned, and he was more than thankful that he was the one who had his throat cut from ear to ear, and not Maggie.

"They see you?" Forrest asked.

Maggie didn't reply, she couldn't and he saw her silence as her answer

Forrest approached Maggie slowly.

He took steps that were dangerously slow, and yet they seemed to be also careful and cautious simultaneously. He hoped and prayed that he was wrong, mistaken, false, that what he thought may have happened didn't, that those men didn't lay a single hand on her, but there was something in her eyes that was different, something that he had picked up on awhile back.

"Then what happened?" Forrest asked.

"Nothin'." Maggie lied.

Forrest knew it was a lie. He was watching her intently, closely, scrutinizing each movement, he saw each and every detail on her face as she faltered, as she hesitated, as she froze immediately, and he had seen it.

"I asked you a question." Forrest told her, as though she might not have heard him properly, as though he was giving her the chance to change her answers, to confess the truth to him, but Maggie remained stubborn and her answer remained the same.

"I told you." Maggie answered confidently, her voice unwavering.

"Look at me." Forrest demanded, his voice soft yet stern.

_That_ was what broke Maggie, that softness, that care and concern, and that was what broke her resolve not to break, her determination to keep herself strong, steady, to keep it all to herself, keep all the pain for herself, but now he knew.

"Maggie." Forrest said her name softly.

Maggie closed her eyes, as though closing them meant that she didn't have to deal with it, didn't have to see it, didn't have to see Forrest, and if she couldn't see it then it couldn't be happening. She started crying, the tears built up in her eyes before they spilled, and _that_ was what had confirmed the horrible truth for Forrest.

"Look at me." Forrest said, and Maggie didn't know if he was pleading, begging, insisting or demanding, but she did as he asked regardless.

She opened her eyes slowly and looked at him, and he could _see_ it, he could see in her eyes the depraved acts that they had done to her, while he had been right outside, and, if he was right about what they had done to her, what he could have prevented, he would never forgive himself.

"What happened?" He asked. "What happened when you got back?"

"Not a damn thing." Maggie told him, and he didn't believe her, he couldn't, not when he could see the sorrow, the truth, the pain, clear in her clouded blue eyes.

"What happened when you got back?" Forrest asked again, he was relentless.

Maggie hesitated before responding, and when she finally answered her voice was surprisingly strong, despite how rattled she was moments earlier, despite how shaken she had turned. "Nothin'." she answered simply, and Forrest was patient, he knew he had to be.

"I asked you a question." Forrest stated.

"An' I answered it." Maggie replied.

The anger that she felt, towards those monsters, was beginning to slowly seep into her words, causing them to be sharper, harsher, colder, and she didn't wish to regard Forrest in such a manner, but she couldn't help but feel bitter, sickened, angered, when she thought about those mongrels.

"I don't think you did." Forrest disagreed softly. "What happened when you got back, Maggie?" he asked quietly, patiently, but she couldn't have this happened, he couldn't know, she couldn't have that, not when she knew he'd only look upon her with pity.

"Nothin' happened." Maggie said.

He didn't believe her.

"Did they..." Forrest started to ask, his voice was low, hushed, reluctant, before he trailed off; he didn't want to believe that such a thing could occur, not to Maggie, not when he was right there, not when he could have helped.

"No." Maggie replied curtly.

Maggie had trouble looking at Forrest, for she felt ashamed and guilty, and Forrest couldn't help but see the similarities between Howard's behaviour now and Maggie's behaviour back then; she couldn't bring herself to look at him, it was like she was afraid of what he might find in her eyes, and now Howard was displaying those same tells of worry and fear.

"Not a goddamn one of them bastards ever did a damn thing to me." Maggie declared, and Forrest had felt numb, useless, like a complete and utter failure, because he knew that she was lying. "Now you." she said, and it was true, now he knew.

Before Forrest even opens his mouth, before he blinks, before he moves, Howard starts to shake his head, as though he is shaking away thoughts of all the terrible things that have happened over these last few days, weeks, months, and he barely resists the urge of ripping at the hair on his head in frustration.

Howard blames himself.

He hates himself with a vehement hatred that no one would believe that he would be capable of possessing, but he has it, it is inside of him, dark and brewing and toxic, decaying at him slowly, and he needs it though, needs to reminder himself of what a failure he is, because without it he nearly forgets.

"Howard." Forrest says his brother's name.

Howard's anxious behaviour has got Forrest more than worried; he doesn't want to embark down the same road that he did with Maggie, in that conversation, and he doesn't wish for this to turn out as dismally as that did. He didn't ask enough question, didn't show enough concern, and he was surprised to see that she was still staying at the station, ever after everything.

"What's happened, Howard?" Forrest asks, and his voice is a juxtaposition of anger and genuine concern.

Howard shakes his head again, his lips are pursed together tightly, almost as though that's the only way that he can keep it all in, and he stares down at the floorboards while continuing to remain silent and solemn.

"Howard Bondurant." Forrest says, his voice is every bit as menacingly calm as when he first met Rakes, and it's almost deadlier this way; the way that he draws it out, it's more dangerous, and yet he maintains to maintain his calm composure. "Look at me, Howard." he demands, but Howard doesn't even flinch.

"I ain't goin' to ask you again, Howard." Forrest tells him, and Howard knows that his brother isn't bluffing, so he drags his eyes away from the floorboards; Howard looks up, and Forrest sees how his brother's eyes are glossy and red rimmed from days of habitual drinking. "What's happened, Howard?"

Howard hesitates momentarily, he considers telling Forrest everything; but then he realizes that it isn't his place to tell Forrest, and this isn't the right place or time for Forrest to find out. If Forrest finds out like this, he'd be back at the Station by this afternoon when he's supposed to be getting better in hospital.

"Nothin', Forrest." Howard says, as shifts uncomfortably in the chair by Forrest's bedside before he stands. "I gotta go."

If it wasn't for these damn bullet wounds, Forrest thinks, he would have been able to stop Howard from standing up and slipping out of the room and taking the truth away with him.

* * *

**A/N: **What do you think about the pregnancy? It's highly possible that Forrest may not be the father, and I am keenly interested to know what your thoughts are on the matter. I already know where I am going with this storyline - I have known since the beginning - but I am interested to know your thoughts on the matter.

Thank you, all you lovely readers, and my dear sister, I appreciate you all.

My thoughts and prayers are will all of you who have been affected by Sandy. Stay strong during this difficult time, and know that there are a great deal of Australian's who are worried for you and thinking of you, we wish that you all stay safe.

**X**


	7. See The Lightning Crack

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy.

Maggie serves lunch to a man at the bar, she's cooked eggs and bacon, and she's also placed a fresh pitcher of water down on the counter-top. Just as she is about to top up the man's drink, she feels a small yet sharp pain in her stomach; the sensation is small, almost like a tiny pin being driven into her skin, but it is enough to cause her to place the pitcher down, with slightly shaky hands, and hold onto the edge of the counter-top to brace herself.

The man, who she had been serving, briefly looks up at her; his eyes flicker up from his plate of food, and up to her confused features, he asks, with a mouthful of bacon and egg, "You alright, Miss?"

Maggie nods, she tries to smile reassuringly at the customer, even though she is still relatively wary of wanderers whose faces she doesn't recognize from around these parts, because there is something about an unfamiliar face that frightens her. Maggie knows that the regulars wouldn't do anything to harm her, they wouldn't dare cross a Bondurant, but it's the irregulars that cause her to feel concerned for her safety.

"Miss, are you sure you alr-" he starts to ask again, but then the pain hits Maggie again, for the second time, and this causes one hand to fly to her stomach and a small cry of pain to escape her lips.

And then, Howard enters the bar; he steps inside with a stern frown set in place and his knuckles balled into readied fists by his side – he is more than prepared to start throwing punches around at any man who so much as looks as though he could pose a threat to Maggie.

When Howard steps in from the verandah and inside the bar, he is not only soaked to the skin, because of the heavy downpour that ensued and the lack of shelter from where he parked Jack's car in the shed to the verandah, but he is also shocked to see that Maggie is up and about and cleaning up after customers.

"How's Jack?" Maggie asks from across the bar, and all Howard can do is nod in response.

Howard nods, then simply stares at Maggie; he doesn't speak, he doesn't know what to say, he doesn't know how to react – she shouldn't be up, she shouldn't be out of bed, it's that simple, but instead of resting and regaining her health upstairs she is downstairs in the bar and she is walking around like the doctor never paid her a visit.

Here Maggie is, walking around like she never took a tumble down the stairs, walking around like she wasn't severely sick not too long ago and that she was extremely exhausted and could barely get out of bed; here she is, walking around and working like she doesn't have a baby inside of her that she has to take care of.

"He excited to come home?" Maggie asks pleasantly.

Howard steps towards her slowly, he takes off his wet hat and he continues to walk forward slowly until he reaches the end of the bar. Maggie meets him there after a moment, after she finishes pouring a customer a glass of water, and then, after he shakes off his shock, Howard answers, "Yeah…yeah he is."

"Good." Maggie says, she flashes him a bright smile before she starts to walk away.

"Maggie." he says and leans across the bar.

"Yes, Howard?" she asks, much too innocently, as she turns back around to face him with an impassive look on her face.

Howard leans closer, his voice is a low whisper as he asks, quietly and carefully so that no customer can overhear their conversation, "Shouldn't you be sleepin'?"

"I slept all day yesterday, Howard." Maggie tells him with a small, fake smile. "And the day before that."

"Shouldn't you be restin', then?" he asks, because he isn't giving up easily.

"I'm feelin' fine, Howard." she replies curtly, before she reaches for a cloth and starts to wipe down the countertops; specifically the ones where Howard is, the ones he leans across, and this forces him to have to lean back and away from her so that she is able to wipe them down properly.

"You opened up the place…" Howard says before he glances quickly over his shoulder, he looks at the handful of regulars before he turns back to Maggie, he shoots her a brief smile before he says, "S'only fair I close up."

Howard turns towards the customers and says, with a threatening voice, that it's time to leave, now – they are up and out of their chairs and gone out the front doors before Maggie can even find her voice to protest against Howard's actions.

Everyone from around these parts knows that Howard Bondurant has a hot temper and an insatiable thirst for whisky, which can be a dangerous mix in any man, they all know that he has witnessed the horrors of war, which have scarred him in unspeakable ways, and they all know better than to disagree with a Bondurant or to try to start something with one when they know that they won't be able to finish it.

The word around Franklin County is that the Bondurant brothers are indestructible, immortal, and because of these rumors most around these parts are more than fearful of them; particularly the oldest brother, the brute, the brawn of the three brothers, the temper, the ticking time bomb.

"Howard!" Maggie exclaims loudly, she looks more than unimpressed as she steps out from behind the bar and comes to a halt a few steps in front of Howard. "Why would you do that? Send away payin' customers?"

"Money ain't an issue." Howard tells her as he turns his back on her and walks over to the front doors where he locks both the doors before turning back again.

"Why would you do that?" Maggie asks, again, with a small frown of annoyance.

"You shouldn't be up, Maggie." He answers as he starts to step closer towards her.

"I was doin' just fine, Howard." Maggie states, seconds before Howard takes her by the elbow and states to turn her around to lead her upstairs and back to her room so that she can continue resting

"You were doin' exactly what doc told you not to do." Howard says and he offers no further explanation as he leads her over to the staircase.

Just as they reach the bottom stair, Maggie wrenches her arm out of Howard's hold and takes a step or two backwards before she says, sharply, "I know what the doctor told me, Howard, I was there."

Howard remains quiet as her reaches for her elbow again, to which she responds by once again wrenching her arm away and out of his reach.

"I was _there_, Howard." Maggie says, again, and her voice is even sharper than it was the first time.

"So was I." he answers slowly. "I've been there since the start, watchin' as you got sick, and I ain't gonna watch it again."

Howard can't help that, as he speaks, the overwhelming anger and frustration that he feels, at himself and at those men, starts to seep through into his words; the words taste bitter in his mouth, and he wishes that he didn't feel that way, wishes that he didn't despise himself as much as he does, but he can't help it.

"I'm fine, Howard." Maggie says, and she actually believes that she is.

The small jabs in her stomach have ceased, she attributes them to something that she ate, perhaps one of those eggs that Howard cooked for her the other morning, and she promises both herself and the baby that if they start back up again she will send Howard straight into town without hesitation. "I ain't gonna get worse, Howard, I'm _fine_."

"You're right." Howard concedes, and Maggie pauses; she hadn't expected for him to give up so easily.

"I told you-" Maggie starts to say, but Howard speaks above her.

"You ain't gonna get worse, Maggie, 'cause you're gonna go upstairs now and you're gonna rest." Howard isn't asking, he isn't offering, he isn't suggesting that she do that, he's telling Maggie that this is how it's going to go; the seriousness of his voice reminds her of Forrest. "You're gonna rest and you're gonna get better."

"I am better." Maggie protests, and Howard simply shakes his head. "And, I'm sick of restin'." she tells him, because she is; she's sick of lying there, with nothing but her thoughts.

"This ain't 'bout just you anymore, is it?" Howard says.

Maggie freezes up at his words, because he's right, because even though she had thought about the baby, she had thought about what it might need, she had honestly felt fine – nothing felt wrong, aside from the tiny jabs she felt earlier, the only thing that she did feel was as though she had been bedridden for far too long and that she ought to be up and on her feet again.

But now, Howard's words make more sense to her than her reasoning does; she had reasoned with herself, she had told herself that this was what they both needed, but now she felt guilty for getting out of bed when she could be putting the both of them at risk.

"You're pregnant, Maggie." he says, his voice both soft and stern, a strange mix in Howard. "The sooner you accept that the better."

Maggie doesn't respond, she doesn't reply, she doesn't make a sound, instead she allows for Howard to lead her upstairs slowly, with his hand on her elbow as he guides her towards her room. When he leaves, after a moment of awkwardly hovering near the door, he closes the door behind him and closes Maggie off from the world; Maggie wants to scream.

She hates the solitude, the silence, the space.

There's too much room in this room for all her doubts, it's too still and quiet, and it leaves far too much room for all her questions and insecurities; her thoughts tear her to thousands of tiny pieces behind closed doors, and as soon as that door opens she is forced to put herself back together again.

Howard heads back to the spare room, to change out of these damp clothes and into dry ones, and as he walks with sluggish steps he knows that he can't keep running from Forrest forever – just how Maggie, who stands by the window instead of curling up underneath the sheets, knows that she can't keep hiding from Forrest forever.

Maggie watches, as tiny drops of rain trickle slowly down the windows, and she wonders what Forrest will think of all of this; she wonders how she got herself into such a mess, she wonders why she dragged Forrest into the mess that is her life and why she couldn't have just let him be – she could have spared him a great deal of pain, if she could have just kept her distance.

But her and Forrest, they were drawn to each other; they still are drawn to each other.

Both Maggie and Forrest are broken, both Maggie and Forrest are bleeding, and they both know that what they have, whatever it is, is a once in a life sort of thing; it is something that has never happened to either of them before, it is something that they had both thought that they would surely never find and would always live without, but then Maggie turned up at Blackwater Station.

Forrest doesn't believe in destiny or such things, he believes that you make your own way through this world, that you determine your own life, but he also believes that it wasn't just by chance that Maggie Beauford happened to find her way to Blackwater Station.

Forrest doesn't believe in destiny or fate, but he does believe that, sometimes, some things are meant to be; and when those things happen, you don't question them, you don't wonder why they happened now and why they didn't happen sooner, you just enjoy it while you can because you never know when it will slip out of your hands.

Earlier, Forrest had watched Howard's fleeing figure intently the entire time that he walked away and over to the car. With each step that Howard took away from the hospital, and away from Forrest, Howard could feel eyes on the back of his head; without turning, he knew that it was Forrest at the window.

Howard knew that Forrest was watching him, with frustration and anger and confusion, as Howard walked away with slow and unhurried steps over towards Jack's car.

Forrest's car was damaged at the shoot-out. The blood of their driver, who had unfortunately been shot and died shortly after, sprayed across the broken glass and stained the interior of the car. Howard had tried to save him, the driver, he had tried to stop the blood from pouring out – but no matter what he did, he couldn't stop the bleeding; just how he couldn't wash the blood off of his hands afterwards.

It didn't matter how much Howard scrubbed at his hands, the blood was always there; the blood of his brothers, the blood of the fallen platoon where he was the sole survivor, and it is always underneath his nails and stuck in the cracks and callouses of his hands.

Maggie's truck is also broken, or so she told Howard. It os parked near the side of the house, next to Forrest's car, and she won't let anyone drive it; she claims that it needs to be repaired, but, when Howard had walked past it he had peered inside and his eyes were immediately drawn to the bloodstained seats.

So, they were left with Jack's car.

When Jack had left in search of Rakes, he had taken one of the spares. Jack had left his own car near the old stills, the ones that Rakes and his men had blown up, the ones that were all ashes and dust now, so Howard had gone back one day, while Forrest and Jack were still recovering in hospital, and he'd retrieved Jack's car for him.

Howard and Maggie had used Jack's car for trips into town to visit them in hospital and to get supplies, because what spares they did have in the sheds didn't have it in them to endure trips back and forth along the bumpy roads that lead into town.

Howard also saw it as some sort of coming home present for Jack; not that he'd done anything to the car, there was nothing new or special about it, he hadn't fixed it or cleaned it up or anything, he just thought that Jack might be wanting his car back to visit Bertha once he got better.

Forrest had watched as his brother got in and as he began to drive in the opposite direction, in the direction that Forrest wished he was headed, and, as soon as Howard's car was out of sight, it started to pour down with rain.

The rain was relentless, it still continues now as Forrest reluctantly gets back in bed; he had stayed up for a while, simply standing by the window and staring off in the direction of Blackwater Station, but then the nurse had entered, sometime later, and she had told him that if he didn't get back in bed then she'll see to it that he gets another week here.

All that he has been doing lately is sleeping, staying in bed while being wide awake, stretching his sore limbs, or having his bandages changed; he hates this feeling, of feeling useless, but what he would hate more would be another week in this joint so he slips back under the sheets.

Cracks of lightning, which sound similar to the crack of a whip, resound loudly as Forrest's closes his eyes; he can't help but think of Maggie, how she must be all by herself when Howard comes to visit, but then he thinks that she'll be doing just fine – she's strong, stronger than anyone gives her credit for, and she's more than capable of handling herself.

But, even once Forrest tells himself that, he can't stop the doubt and worry from nagging at his mind; he still has concerns for her, for her safety and for her state of mind, and he can't wait until he is back at the station and he is able to look out for her - all he wants to do is take care of her, after all that she has endured because of him and his brothers.

* * *

Howard wakes the next morning with a stiff neck, from sleeping outside of Maggie's door again, and a pounding headache, from drinking all that whisky.

Once he wakes up completely, it takes a moment for him to, he heads downstairs and starts to make breakfast slowly.

"You awake, Maggie?" Howard asks softly as he taps lightly on her door sometime later.

Maggie answers with a small sound, a 'yes' that is barely audible, so Howard enters and places her breakfast down by her bedside like he has every other morning since the doctor dropped by. They sit in silence, again. Maggie consumes her breakfast slowly, while Howard plays with the frayed ends of his hat.

"I'm goin' to get Jack today." Howard says, and Maggie glances up slowly.

"I know." She replies, and she doesn't attempt to smile; she simply stares off into nothing, almost as though she can't see Howard, before she turns her attention back to her plate.

When she's done, she passes him the clean plate and empty glass and turns back around; she doesn't even thank him, not that he wants her to thank him, he just wants her to say something, anything, because he didn't want this.

Maggie had seemed to be somewhat back to her old self yesterday, she had been all smiles and pleasantries, but Howard knew that it was just an act; while he didn't want for her to revert back to these ways, of painful silence and keeping to herself again, he knew that he'd rather her be in bed resting than running around downstairs and running herself into the ground.

* * *

The first words that Forrest hears as he wakes are the enthusiastic words of his younger brother, "I'm goin' home today, Forrest."

Jack's face is the first thing that he sees as he wakes, his voice is the first that Forrest hears, and this just adds to Forrest's longing to return home as soon as is possible so that the first face that he sees of a morning, the first voice that he hears, can be Maggie's.

"Uh…yeah…that's right…" Forrest replies slowly, he rubs at his eyes before he sits up straighter in the hospital bed.

Forrest always sleeps on his back, never on his side. It's a habit that he never learned to shake, a habit that he doubts he ever will lose. He picked it up awhile back, knowing that there were those out there who could come after him, come after his family, with hopes to spill his blood and he never wanted to turn his back to them; he never wanted to be vulnerable, he never wanted to give them the chance to attack him while he was unaware.

"I know, I'm happy for me too, Forrest." Jack remarks, somewhat sarcastically, and Forrest wonders where Jack has picked up this newfound nerve; he decides to let it slide this time, knowing that Jack meant no disrespect, he's only playing.

"Ain't you ever heard of knockin'?" Forrest says, instead of slapping Jack up the side of the head.

"You sleep like the dead, Forrest." Jack answers, unaware of Forrest's thoughts of slapping him. "Ain't no wakin' you once you're out, you go out like a light! You're like a log."

If Jack was close enough, Forrest would have slapped him up the side of the head for that one.

Jack is undeterred by Forrest's silence, and by his lack of a response, verbal or otherwise, otherwise being a small nod or grunt, and he starts to tell Forrest about all his plans for his future with Bertha. As he starts talking about the future, about getting married with Bertha and having children, Forrest's mind drifts back off to the past.

When Jack had found him that night, when Forrest and Howard had gone after those two bastards, Forrest wasn't covered in blood like Jack had expected him to be; Forrest gripped a razor in his right hand, but aside from the blood that stained the metal, and the blood that would always stain his hands, Forrest was otherwise clean of it.

Forrest wasn't wearing his usual hat, or his cardigan, because he didn't want either of the two getting marked with the blood of those men. And, when Jack entered, he only glanced over his shoulder briefly; he had faintly heard the sound of the door opening behind him, and he wasn't at all alarmed or concerned or deterred about who might be standing behind him – it was as though he hadn't even heard a sound, and it was even worse when he turned to face Jack.

Forrest had looked in Jack's direction, but he hadn't looked at Jack per se; he had looked straight past him, straight through him, and Jack had never seen his older brother in such a state before – Forrest looked like he was in a daze, like he was transfixed by it all, while Jack was mildly terrified; he hadn't ever seen that much blood, he felt as though he was having an out of body experience.

When they were younger, just boys, Howard and Forrest had kept encouraging Jack to kill a pig, they needed to eat after all, and yet Jack couldn't find it in him to take a life; yet, Forrest had no qualms about shooting it – it was what needed to be done.

Forrest was always the more violent one, not in the sense that he was sadistic and cruel, because Forrest has never been sadistic or cruel, but in the sense that he wasn't deterred by seeing it or carrying it out; not if it was what needed to be done. Jack had never understood, he had always thought that there had to be another way, but then he had shot Rakes, because it was what needed to be done, and just like that he had understood.

Jack had felt something twist in his stomach, something sharp and tight snapped, and he felt nauseated by the gruesome sight, the violence that he was unaccustomed to. Forrest, unlike Jack, had been exposed and accustomed to violence at a young age; and that was how he wanted to keep it. But then Jack went and involved himself in a world that he had always feared, a world that he always wanted to keep his distance from, and he realized that Forrest did what had to be done.

There was blood running down the clean white walls, it dripped from the end of the razor in Forrest's hand, and Howard was covered in it; Jack had never seen anything like this before, he had never seen his brothers like this before, and he felt sick by the sight of all the blood and yet his two older brothers seemed unaffected by it.

Maggie had attempted to reason with Jack also, like she had with Forrest earlier, and, honestly, she had assumed that Jack would have been the more likely one out of the three to be more easily persuaded and to be kept away from all the violence; instead Jack had left and he drove straight into it.

Howard had always known better then to sneak up on Forrest, especially when he was like this, but Jack didn't know better; Jack didn't know shit, as far as Howard was concerned. But then they had endured so much, they had done so much, and, because of Rakes, Jack had learnt his lesson.

Jack had not only learnt the degree of violence of which his brothers were capable of, he had not only learnt that he was more like his brothers, in the sense that he did what had to be done, but he also learnt never to sneak up on Forrest unannounced.

Jack had burst into that bloodstained room, and he became a part of a world of violence that his brothers had tried to keep him out of. They weren't trying to shield Jack from the horrors of the word, they knew that it was inevitable to try and keep him out of danger; they were just trying to keep him as far away as possible from their world of violence.

Jack was just a kid, when he walked in and saw what Forrest and Howard had done to those men, and he wasn't ever supposed to see a sight like that, Howard and Forrest had agreed on that much, and yet there Jack was – smack bang in the middle of it all.

So Jack, being the inexperienced thing that he was, reached forward dumbly for Forrest; he reached for his shoulder, to try and shake him out of the daze, to try and shake him back to his senses, and to try and drag him away from the violence.

Forrest had almost ripped Jack's throat to shreds with his razor; he gripped the back of Jack's head tightly, and pressed the blade harshly against the underside of his jaw.

Howard was calm enough, considering that one of his brothers was holding a dangerously sharp razor blade to the others neck, and he just kept saying, over and over again like a mantra, "S'all right, Forrest, s'only me an' Jack."

It took Forrest more than a few moments to realize who it was, and to register that he had to pull the blade, which was dripping with the other men's blood, away from Jack's unscarred and unmarred throat. Jack took a step back then, once Forrest had released his vice-like hold on his younger brother, and Jack had stumbled over himself as he tried to get outside and get away from all of it.

Forrest was there to get his revenge, Howard was there because he wouldn't let his brother down again, and Jack was there because he never listened to nobody but himself; the only way he would learn was the hard way. Jack was cocky, Jack thought that he could handle things that took Forrest years to be able to handle, and Jack was just a kid.

Forrest didn't want Jack involved, he didn't want that from the start, but Jack kept insisting and fighting Forrest on each of his decisions; Jack was a fighter in that sense, in the way that he wouldn't give up.

Jack wasn't giving up now, as he kept rambling on about love and such things, and Forrest was glad that his brother was heading home; so he could heal, so that they both could, and so that Jack would be able to start living the life that he was meant to – a life without violence.

"Go back to bed, Jack." Forrest says sometime later, after listening to Jack ramble on for what feels like days. "I'll see you when you go."

Jack agrees to leave, after some delay and procrastination, and just as he is about to shut the door behind him Forrest pipes up and says, sternly, "You send your brother in here once he gets here."

Howard shows up sometime later, Forrest had been resting before he showed and he doesn't have to open his eyes to confirm that it's his older brother because he would know those footsteps anyway. Howard turns to leave Forrest, to let him rest, and although Forrest can't see Howard hesitating he can hear it; he can hear his footsteps, as he starts to turn away, and that's the moment that Forrest speaks up.

"Sit down, Howard." Forrest says without opening his eyes, and Howard doesn't object or flee; he takes slow steps over to the seat by Forrest's bedside, he sits there, like he did this same time yesterday morning and he waits.

Howard waits, he watches as Forrest opens his eyes slowly, and he waits for the rage that he knows is coming, the rage that he can see brewing in Forrest's eyes, the unseen frustration that he tries to keep hidden underneath the calm and cool exterior that he always has up, and he waits for the words, because he knows that they are coming, slow and dangerous threats that Forrest will use to get the truth out of Howard.

Howard is loyal, Forrest knows that, anyone who has ever met Howard Bondurant or heard about him knows that he is loyal to his family, and, despite his failures, despite him letting Forrest down, Forrest still knows that his brother is more loyal than any other man he'll ever encounter. Forrest knows that Howard is loyal, to his family and to nobody else, and, although he teases Jack sometimes and treats him like he is a pest, Forrest knows that the loyalty he has to both of his younger brothers will never change.

Howard is loyal, so Forrest knows that Howard isn't purposely being secretive just for the sake of it; he knows that Howard isn't hiding something from Forrest just to frustrate Forrest or just because he can, he's hiding it because he _has_ to, because he is being loyal to someone else now – Howard is being loyal to another member of their family, a new member, and Forrest knows that if he finds this member then he will be able to get the truth.

"Uh…how are…how are you?" Forrest asks, and stuns Howard.

Howard frowns, he hadn't expected that. He had expected anger and frustration; he had expected Forrest to be, well, Forrest. And that, that inquiry into how Howard was doing, was unlike Forrest, it was un-Forrest. Howard replies slowly as he takes off his hat, "I'm fine."

It's not that Howard's younger brother doesn't care, because he does, it is just that Forrest never asks straight out; Forrest has his other ways of finding out how people were doing, he knows their tells and he can read people quite easily, even though he himself lacks tells and is the most unreadable of them all, but he never asks straight out how his brothers' were doing.

Forrest won't dance around a question, if he has something to ask or something to say he'll just come straight out and say it, but he never asks, as bluntly as he just did, how Howard or Jack are doing; not to their faces, anyway. He'd asked Maggie before, he'd asked her once or twice how she thought they were, and that was it.

"How're you feelin'?" Howard asks, because Forrest is the one who is in hospital, not Howard, and Forrest is the one who took bullets to the chest for his brothers, not Howard.

"I'm alright…" Forrest answers.

"Jack's-" Howard starts to say, but Forrest cuts across him.

"I know." Forrest says, somewhat curtly, and Howard lifts his gaze from his hat and up to Forrest.

"I'll take care of him." Howard promises and Forrest knows that he will; or he'll die trying.

"I know." Forrest says, his voice softer, because he knows that Howard is guilty and that he won't ever forgive himself for failing his brothers.

A few moments of silence pass between the brothers, silence where Howard contemplates telling the truth to Forrest and barely restrains himself, but he manages to say silent; just how Forrest manages to keep up his calm and collected composure.

"You go on off now..." Forrest says, and Howard's frown only deepens; he hadn't expected this, he had expected something else entirely. "You take Jack home…an' you do as you promised, you take care of him."

"I'll take care of him." Howard declares as he stands from his seat.

Forrest nods, but otherwise remains silent.

Howard puts his hat back atop of his head, he starts to walk towards the door, and just as he reaches the end of the hospital bed Forrest speaks up and says, "You send Maggie down, once you get home."

"I ain't so sure 'bout that, Forrest." Howard stops and reluctantly turns back around to face his brother.

"What ain't you sure about, Howard?" Forrest asks, with a creased brow, as he scans Howard for any sign of his tell.

Usually, when something has him uncomfortable, and lying to his family makes Howard uncomfortable, he'll fidget with something, mostly his hat, or his fingers will twitch, but not now; now, he remains completely still as he decides on the best answer to Forrest's question.

When Howard fails to answer, Forrest speaks again, "What ain't you so sure about, Howard?" he asks sternly, his calm composure cracks slightly as he struggles to contain his frustration; he understands that his brother is loyal, he understands that and he respects that, but he still finds it frustrating that Howard is keeping something, that is obviously related to Maggie, from him.

"What ain't you so sure about, Howard?" he asks, for the third time, his voice is low and it sounds more like a threat than it does a question.

"I ain't so sure if that's a good idea, Forrest." Howard answers finally.

"Is that so?" Forrest asks, and Howard can only nod. "An' why's that?"

"She's…" Howard starts to say, his voice a low mumble.

"She's what, Howard?" Forrest prompts Howard, who would have otherwise remained silent.

"She's tired, Forrest." Howard replies.

"Mmm…alright…" Forrest says and nods.

Just as Howard thinks Forrest is about to let him go, Forrest says, "You drive her down here, then." he isn't asking Howard, he's telling Howard that _that _is what is going to happen.

"What 'bout Jack?" Howard asks, hoping that this will get Maggie out of it.

"Jack's just restin', he'll be fine by himself." Forrest tells him.

"Forrest, I ain't so su-" Howard starts to say, but, once again, Forrest cuts across him.

"I ain't askin', Howard."

* * *

**A/N: **Aww, you guys are amazing! I really enjoyed receiving all the feedback.

There wasn't much in this chapter relating to Maggie's pregnancy, but the following chapter will be based on it, and will, in a way, make up for the lack of it in this chapter (hopefully). For those of you who are eagerly awaiting Forrest's reaction, you will receive on soon enough; sorry to keep you hanging, but I guess I'm just evil like that ^_^

To clear up any confusion that there may be, I'd like to make it known that I tweaked the timeline, for the sake of my storyline. I altered it so that Maggie and Forrest were together only a few weeks after he had this throat cut, not months later, meaning that the father of her baby could be one of three.

Sorry for any confusion! The only detail I changed was when it happened.

My thoughts and prayers are will all of you who have suffered because of Sandy; stay strong during this difficult time, and know that there are a great deal of people in Australia who are thinking of you and wishing that you all stay safe.

& to **Dotty Vintage,**I am glad that the destruction wasn't too devastating, and I hope that things start to improve for you, and for everyone else who has suffered, in any way, because of Sandy. Stay safe.

Thank you, all of you, any of you, for reading/reviewing/following/favourite. It means so much, and I am so thankful that you take the time out of your chaotic days to read this story.

**X  
**


	8. Never Could Go Back

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy.

"Where's Maggie?" These are Jack's first words when he and Howard arrive at Blackwater Station.

They definitely weren't the first words that he'd said the entire trip, because his mouth had been running like a motor for the entire drive home, and it certainly wasn't the first question that he'd asked either - Jack was always being inquisitive like that, he always had been like that and Howard guessed that he always would be; Jack always liked to know the what's, the why's, the when's and so on and so forth.

But, something had changed – Howard wasn't sure what, or when, or why, he didn't care much for the details, not like Jack did, but something was _different_, with Jack, he knew that much.

Although Jack had talked and talked, to the point where Howard was surprised that his mouth hadn't fallen off or his jaw hadn't locked up from all that work, Howard didn't find it nearly as annoying as he used to.

Jack was different.

Jack had, in such a short space of time, grown up, just the littlest bit, and this was noticeable enough to Howard who had just nodded along to whatever Jack said the entire drive home instead of telling him to shut it.

Jack had done what needed to be done, that was all there was to it, and Howard respected him for more it.

Howard was there, when Jack took Rakes down, and he knew that Jack could have very well left Rakes for Howard to take care of – but, instead, he stepped up and took care of it himself. Howard had always respected Jack, even though he never said that explicitly, he had always respected the way that Jack stayed as himself despite all that pulled at him to become like his brothers.

Jack could never be like his two older brothers. Howard knew it, Forrest definitely knew it, and even Jack knew it.

Howard and Jack step inside seconds later, the front doors slam loudly behind them as they enter the bar. The rain had stopped earlier and it had allowed for them to walk from the car to the verandah without becoming completely soaked to the skin.

Jack half expected to see Maggie perched on the front verandah, but she was nowhere in sight. Even now, as they step inside, there is still no sign of her. By this point, Jack is mildly concerned; he had expected for Maggie to have met him warmly by now and welcome him back home with one of those kind smiles of hers but instead she is nowhere to be seen.

While Jack is surprised, and slightly concerned, that Maggie is nowhere to be found, and that the Station is surprisingly empty, Howard is relieved. Jack had assumed that it would be back to business as usual, and yet there wasn't a single customer in sight, and, for that, Howard sighed inwardly; he was more than relieved to see that Maggie had stayed in bed to rest and regain her health.

As he and Howard make their way upstairs, Jack thinks that it's too quiet, too lifeless, and too dull. As they continue up the stairs, Howard holds Jack's luggage in his left hand while Jack thinks to himself that there is no possible way that Maggie could be home – she would have greeted him already, she would have already started fussing over him by now and she would have started seeing to it that he was resting and being taken care of.

"Wait here." Howard tells Jack, as they reach the top of the staircase.

But, Jack doesn't listen, he tends not to, and he slowly follows Howard's footsteps forward and finds the eldest Bondurant brother outside of Forrest's bedroom door.

Howard opens it slowly, almost cautiously, as though he is afraid to frighten whatever may be on the other side of that door.

Jack listens intently, he can faintly hear as his brother's voice turns surprisingly soft as he asks Maggie, in a voice so quiet that Jack isn't entirely sure that he hasn't dreamt all of this up, if she is OK and after she replies, just as quietly, with a small 'yes', he lets her know that Jack has returned home.

Jack continues forward, despite the voice inside that tells him not to, the one that tells him that this doesn't concern him, and yet, even though he knows this, he continues forward regardless.

The creak of the floorboards behind Howard alerts him that he and Maggie are no longer entirely alone, and that Jack has foolishly followed; Jack can be foolish like that, he has proven that on more than one occasion.

"What'd I say, Jack? "Howard hisses in a hushed voice, he closes the door softly behind him before he turns sharply to face his youngest brother.

"Is-is that Maggie?" Jack asks, as though he didn't see past Howard and see Maggie's shape curled up in a ball underneath the sheets.

"Go to bed, Jack." Howard dismisses him.

"What's wrong with Maggie?" Jack asks.

He's like a dog with a damn bone, Howard thinks, as he ignores Jack's question and turns him around to steer him towards the direction of his room but Jack steps out of Howard's hold.

"What's wrong with Maggie?" Jack asks, again, his voice more demanding.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with Maggie, Jack." Howard lies, he figures that he is getting quite good at it lately, but Jack still isn't convinced; so Howard says, "She's tired. That's all." he starts to steer Jack towards the direction of his room but, once again, and to Howard's frustration, Jack shrugs out of Howard's hold and all but digs his heels in.

"What 'bout Bertha?" Jack asks, and Howard sighs.

"I ain't gonna go through it again, Jack." Howard says, he starts to steer Jack away from Forrest and Maggie's room once more and, for the first time, Jack allows for him to. "I told Forrest I was gonna take care of you, an' I ain't gonna let him down again."

"I can take care of myself just fine, Howard." Jack replies, he sounds petulant, like a child, so Howard tells him what he wants to hear; he tells Jack what Jack needs to hear, in order to make him fight his restlessness and stay in bed at least for the remainder of the day.

"I'll bring Bertha by tomorrow." Howard tells Jack, before he pauses and says, in a stern voice that reminds Jack just how dangerous the oldest Bondurant brother can be, "Go to bed now, Jack."

Jack retreats to his room shortly after, without any further delay, while Howard heads back over to Maggie and Forrest's room.

There is a moment of hesitation, on Howard's part, where he simply stands outside of the bedroom door; he doesn't make a sound, he doesn't move a muscle, he simply stands there and wonders how he got himself in the middle of such a mess.

He knocks lightly upon the wooden door a second later, the sound temporarily breaks the silence that swept up over Blackwater Station some time ago, before he cautiously steps inside.

"Yes, Howard?" Maggie asks without turning to face Howard; he doesn't need to see her face to know how tired she is, he can hear it in her voice and he can see it in the way that she curls up underneath the sheets.

"Forrest wants to see you, Maggie." Howard says without preamble, and Maggie moves at that; she moves at those words, moves so that she is sitting up in the sheets instead of cowering underneath them, and Howard isn't sure if Maggie wants to run away the words or run towards them.

Maggie looks surprised, and honestly a little shocked, like she didn't expect that she would be seeing Forrest so soon, and she also looks solemn, like she isn't entirely sure how she is supposed to speak to Forrest after all that has occurred during his absence.

Maggie also looks tired, like she hasn't slept proper in days, which is true, and she still has the cut near her temple and the scattered bruises and cuts from her tumble down the stairs. Underneath the cut on her forehead, near her temple, there is a small lump and a bruise is slowly forming.

She starts to panic silently, she keeps her worries and fears to herself as Howard tells her, sounding sorrowful as he does, "I tried, Maggie." he pauses, a frown on his features. "But he ain't ever listen to anyone. I tried. I did. An' I told him you were tired, you needed your rest, but he ain't ever gonna listen. Not to me."

Maggie thanks Howard for trying, she tells him that she was going to have to face Forrest sooner or later, and he tells her that he'll be waiting downstairs for her. Howard leaves Maggie alone, alone with her thoughts and alone with her baby, and as he heads downstairs Maggie knows that he won't be completely alone; he'll be waiting for her, waiting for her with a jar of moonshine to keep him company.

Maggie undresses slowly. She steps out of her nightgown and slips into a burgundy button up blouse, which reaches her wrists and is made of a silky material, with a red skirt, that reaches her ankles, and a pair of heels that are of a similar shade of red as her skirt is.

She brushes her hair, but it still doesn't spring back to life; her curls flop around, they droop lifelessly, rather than bounce around as she steps outside into the hallway and quietly makes her way downstairs.

Before she left the bedroom, she had applied some powder to her face, mostly underneath her eyes where the lines there are evidence of her lack of peaceful and uninterrupted sleep, and near her temple, where she had hit her head when she fell down the stairs.

Maggie had also applied some lipstick, also red, in an attempt to appear livelier, more like her old self, but she knew that her efforts were in vain; Forrest would see straight through it, he'd see straight past the powder and the pretty lipstick and he'd know that there was something else that she was trying to conceal from him.

She finds Howard downstairs in the company of a jar of moonshine which is almost empty, and when he sees her he stands up sluggishly from where he was previously seated at the bar and he makes his way over to the front doors; he isn't in any hurry to get to the hospital either, because going to the hospital means revealing all that has been hidden and Howard doesn't feel at all comfortable about being in the middle of all of this.

Howard was the one that Maggie turned to, not Forrest. Howard was the one who saw Maggie at her worst, not Forrest. Howard was the one who had taken care of Maggie when she was ill, not Forrest. Howard was the first Bondurant brother to know about Maggie's pregnancy, not Forrest.

Howard is the one that still sees Maggie at her worst, the one who still tries to take care of her, while Forrest has been bedridden at the local hospital because of his bullet wounds.

Howard doubts that Forrest will understand why he was lied to by his own brother and why he was kept in the dark by his, well, Howard isn't entirely sure about exactly what Maggie is to Forrest; Maggie isn't Forrest's property, no woman is a man's property, but Maggie _is_ Forrest's; just how Forrest is Maggie's.

Regardless of what they are to each other, Howard knows that his brother will struggle with keeping his calm when he finds out that it was Howard who Maggie had turned to and not Forrest and it was Forrest who Howard had lied to and not Maggie. Howard could have very well lied to Maggie, he could have confessed everything to Forrest and returned to Blackwater Station and fed her falsehoods about his visits with Forrest; but he didn't, because he felt that he owed her that much.

While Howard knew that he would always be in debt to his brother Forrest, he would always try to make up for his failure that resulted in Forrest having his throat cut, he also owed Maggie just as much, if not more – if Howard had of shown up that night, then those men would not have done what they did to Maggie, and none of this would have unraveled.

The grey clouds that hang above Maggie, the ones that have been hanging over Franklin County for what feels like months now, rumble dangerously as she steps down the front stairs of the verandah and over to her truck. The rain had ceased earlier, to Maggie's surprise, she had thought that it would continue to rain for weeks on end but instead it had stopped in the short space of an hour or two, but as she starts to step closer to her truck, the one that her daddy gave her before he died, tiny droplets being to fall from the skies of grey above.

The droplets drip and drop languidly, unhurriedly, like they aren't in any rush to reach Blackwater Station, and Maggie is the same in her movements; she walks over to her truck slowly, the one that she parked by Forrest's by the side of the house, because she isn't in any rush to reach the hospital in town.

Maggie reaches the passengers door, she reaches out and touches the handle but finds that she can't open it; it's not really so much that she can't, because the door isn't jammed and the car isn't locked or anything, it's more that she _can't_. She can't open the door, because opening that door means opening the door to the past; and Maggie can't have that, because if she allows herself to dwell on it for too long she knows that it will consume her.

"Maggie?" Howard calls out cautiously, but Maggie can't hear him; not over the voices of those men in those ears.

Her hand lingers on the handle, and she is so mesmerized by the mortifying memory of that night that she doesn't even realize that Howard is beside her until he places a hand on her shoulder and she spins around immediately; Maggie shoves Howard's hand away and takes a terrified step backwards.

"S'alright, Maggie, s'only me." Howard says softly, and Maggie frowns; almost as though she doesn't recognize who Howard is. Howard takes a small step forward, but when Maggie retreats again, even further this time, he stops in his movements and instead says, "I ain't gonna hurt you, Maggie. It's me. Howard."

Maggie's frown disappears, her face falls as the realization dawns upon her; Howard, it's only Howard, and Howard wouldn't ever do a thing to hurt her.

"Howard." Howard says, again, because he isn't sure whether she's heard him or not. "Howard Bondurant."

Bondurant. The Bondurant brothers' wouldn't ever do a thing to hurt Maggie; they'd only ever try to protect her. Maggie breathes a sigh of relief, she snaps out of her daze and steps forward slowly, she is only shaking slightly as she stops reliving that night.

Howard looks momentarily relieved as Maggie returns, as she snaps out of the memory and returns back to reality, but then the concern and the worry and the guilt that is always there returns again as he leads her over to Jack's car and starts up the engine.

They sit in silence for most of the drive; Maggie stares off into the distance outside her window, while Howard stares straight off into the seemingly endless road in front of him.

Just before they reach town, when they are only moments away, Howard speaks up.

"Are you goin' to tell him?" Howard asks, and as soon as he does he wishes that he didn't; the look that she gives him, the look that he can see out of the corner of his eyes, causes the guilt to tighten its grip on him and tug at his chest.

She shoots him a sad look, she doesn't do so intentionally, she doesn't look at him like that because she is trying to make him feel guilty, she looks at him like that because she doesn't know; she doesn't know what she'll say, what Forrest will say, what Forrest will do, and it terrifies her – not knowing terrifies her.

Maggie has always been OK with not knowing what was next, she has always been OK with not knowing where she was going until she picked up her bags in Chicago and turned up at Franklin County, she has always been OK with not knowing where things were headed, she didn't have to know, but things changed drastically once she met and fell for Forrest Bondurant.

Maggie didn't know whether Forrest would live that night, after he got his throat cut, and that terrified her; not knowing why that terrified her, why she was so terrified for Forrest's wellbeing, that had initially terrified her. Maggie didn't know whether or not Forrest would return, after he left in search of Jack, and that had scared her more than anything.

Maggie Beauford has never been one to be easily frightened, to be easily deterred, to be easily scared off; if that was the case then she wouldn't be sharing a house, or a bed for that matter, with Forrest Bondurant - but going into this completely blind, being completely unaware of how Forrest may or may not react, that terrifies her.

"I'll be waitin' down here." Howard tells Maggie as he parks the car just below the hospital; he isn't surprised to see that Forrest is waiting and watching by the window in his room.

Maggie follows Howard's gaze, follows where his eyes have gone to, and she finds Forrest watching the both of them intently from the window; she's surprised that she doesn't break into a thousand pieces right then and there, in Jack's car, because the weight of Forrest's eyes are proving to be too much.

"Thank you, Howard." Maggie says softly, her hands are shaky as she fumbles with the handle.

As she steps out of Jack's car, Maggie avoids both of the Bondurant brothers' eyes that she can feel watching her closely as she walks slowly towards the front steps of the hospital.

Forrest doesn't move from the window, he lets the curtain fall back into place but he continues to stand at the window for some time. He doesn't need to turn around to know that it's Maggie at his door, or Maggie who has just stepped inside and shut the door softly behind her, he'd know those footsteps anywhere.

"Forrest," Maggie says, after having surveyed the room and found him to still be standing by the window. "What are you doin' out of bed?"

"Stretchin'." Forrest replies as he turns to face, and before he can say anymore on the matter she approaches him and places one hand lightly on his back.

"You can stretch later," She tells him, with a small smile, as she guides him over to the hospital bed, and he looks down upon her face with confusion and concern the entire time. "You need to rest."

Forrest eyes never leave Maggie's face as she leads him over to the hospital bed; his eyes study her face, they search for something, anything, an obvious tell, or a poorly hidden secret in those baby blues, and she finds that she was mistaken; she was mistaken to think that the weight of Forrest's eyes were too much outside of the hospital, because inside these four walls it is exceedingly worse.

They weight of his eyes weigh heavily down upon her, they weigh down heavily on her resolve not to break, not to crumble, not to shatter, and she is only able to look directly at his eyes for a second, as she tugs the sheets up and just above his waist, before she is forced to look away again.

"You hit your head?" Forrest asks, he almost sounds nonchalant, and Maggie freezes up; of course he had seen the cut near her temple, the one that she had tried to conceal with powder, and she knows that it won't be long now until he sees through the rest of her masks.

"I did, yes." Maggie answers slowly as she pulls the second sheet up.

"How?" he asks, he sounds calm and he looks composed as Maggie's eyes briefly flicker up to his face before they flicker away again.

"I was, uh, I was serving a customer at the bar," Maggie starts to say as she stands up straight, she's finished with helping Forrest back into bed now, and she continues, with slight difficulty, to tell Forrest how she got that cut, just near her temple, "I dropped somethin', and as I bent down to get it I hit my head on the, uh, the corner of the bar."

Forrest watches her silently, as she rambles on, he watches her with those eyes that both mesmerize her and terrify her; his eyes are filled with such honesty as he watches her.

"Is that so?"

"Yes." She says, and half shrugs. "I feel so silly, hittin' my head on the corner of the bar like that."

Forrest remains quiet for a moment, as he contemplates his next choice of words, and this, the silence, is more unnerving than anything he could ever do or say, "What'd you drop?" he asks, and his voice doesn't betray him, it doesn't reveal the emotions that he is truly feeling, it remains even, as it has the entire time.

"I don't remember."

"Should be more careful, Maggie." Forrest says, and that's all he says; he doesn't interrogate her on the matter, he doesn't call her on her lies, he simply sits there silently and watches her.

Even though he remains silent, even though he doesn't say a single word, his eyes say more to her than his words ever could; they tell her that she can tell him whatever it is she isn't, they say to her that he's sorry for all the times that he has failed her, and they whisper to her intimately his sweet promises that, so long as he is living, he will never let another bad thing happen to her again.

"Sit down, Maggie." Forrest says, and she does; she sits down near the bed's end, and Forrest frowns at this.

Forrest doesn't understand what has happened, in such a short space of time, to Maggie to make her like this; he understands that she's hurting, not that he could ever understand the type of hurt that she is feeling, and it is because of what those men did but it is also because Forrest failed her again by failing to speak up and comfort her - so he decides that he'll address that first.

"Come here, Maggie." Forrest says, he sounds like he's pleading, not that he'd ever admit it.

Maggie moves reluctantly, she's almost certain that once Forrest has a hold of her, whether that be he has a hold of her hand or whether his eyes lock with hers, she won't be able to escape; she'll want to stay there, by his side, unmoving until he can return back home.

"What happened…" Forrest starts to ask, his voice low and husky, and Maggie starts to prepare a response in her head; she'll tell him that she was tired, that's all, and that Howard was concerned for her, and _then_ she'll tell him.

Maggie will tell Forrest that she is pregnant, she wasn't certain until the doctor came to visit, and that she only kept it from him because she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about it herself, she still isn't sure, and then she'll wait; she'll wait for his response, or lack thereof, and then she'll tell him why she is conflicted – she might not have to tell him, though. Forrest is a smart man; he'll figure it out, work out the dates, figure out that he may or may not be the father.

Maggie prepares a response in her head, but when he finishes his sentence, the sentence that she thought she knew the rest of, she is completely blindsided, "That night?"

_That night._

That's all that Forrest has to say, and she immediately knows what night he is referring to, she knows that it will always be referred to as '_that night_' because if they put a label on it, if they call it what it really is, then that means confirming it; and Maggie can't confirm it, not yet, and she doubts that Forrest would be able to handle it so well either.

All Forrest has ever wanted to do is protect Maggie. He loves her so much that, at one point, he didn't even want to be with her, he just wanted to make sure that she was safe, that she was out of harm's way, that she was protected, and that was all that he wanted. And he failed. He failed in the worst possible way, and he won't ever forgive himself for it.

"Nothin' happened." Maggie tells him, and she knows that they've had this conversation before, she knows where this conversation is headed, the only differences between this time and last is that she was stronger last time, she was more determined last time, but not now; now, she feel as though if he says a certain thing or looks at her a certain way she may just shatter.

"I…want to know." Forrest says, and takes Maggie entirely by surprise; she can't comprehend why he'd want to know, why he'd want to confirm it once and for all, why he'd want to discuss it when the last time they almost spoke of it he'd left her without sparing her a gentle word.

"You don't." Maggie assures him, and shakes her head, almost angrily, as she shakes away the thoughts; she didn't come here for this, she didn't come here to talk about this, she wouldn't go anywhere to talk about this.

"No…uh…I do." he replies quietly, his voice low and intimate as he reaches forward for her hand; this gesture, the feel of Forrest's hand holding hers reassuringly, feels like a knife to the heart for Maggie.

It kills her to lie to him, for no good reason other than because the truth is ugly and difficult and painful, and it kills her to know that she has hurt him for no apparent or good reason other than the truth is something that she didn't wish to have to acknowledge.

"What happened…when you got back, Maggie?" he asks, again, and gives her hand a gentle squeeze when she looks down and away from him. "Look at me, Maggie." he says, softly, and he isn't demanding; he's pleading.

"I-I came back, and…" she starts to say, but she falters over the words and freezes up.

"An' what happened?" he prompts, and Maggie pulls her hand away and out of Forrest's hold to wipe at the tears that have started to spill.

Forrest broke Maggie. He broke her because he cared, because he asked, because he wanted to know; all the while, Maggie has been deceiving him, hiding from him and keeping him blind in the dark, and it breaks her down to know that she has deceived him so.

Maggie will break Forrest because she didn't speak up, because she didn't tell him, even when he was willing to listen all along; he had trouble the first time that they spoke about this, because he couldn't fathom the idea that someone would hurt Maggie, beautiful and kind Maggie, but now that he is able to stomach that idea, barely, he is willing to listen and to comfort her – like he should have been doing all along.

"Don't make me say it, Forrest." Maggie begs and wipes harshly at her tears; she feels weak and pathetic, and she only ever wanted to be strong for Forrest.

"I ain't gonna make you." Forrest tells her, he reaches out for her hand once more, because he's a Bondurant and they never give up easily, if they give up at all, and he intertwines their fingers before he says, his voice sounds soft and surprisingly soothing, "I ain't gonna make you say anythin' you don't wanna say, Maggie, an' I ain't ever gonna make you do anythin' you don't want to do."

Maggie shakes her head, her curls fail to bounce, and Forrest notices this, among other things, which have changed about her appearance. She looks paler, she looks tired, Howard hadn't been lying, and she looks torn and tormented by unspoken demons that haunt her.

All Forrest ever wants to do is protect her.

If he has to protect her by not making her say the words out loud, if that's how she'll feel safest, then he won't make her say them. He'll stay silent, until she's ready, if she ever is ready, and if she isn't ever ready to say the words that haunt him of a night then he'll respect her wishes and he'll protect her from the unspoken and unseen demons as best as he can.

"They…were there." Maggie says reluctantly.

"I know." Forrest says quietly, because he does; he knows that those men were there, those monsters, in their house, with Maggie, and he knows that he was just right outside while it all happened – he knows that they hurt her, that he could have prevented that, and knowing that she returned that night because of him hurts more than any blade to his throat ever will.

"They-they saw me." Maggie stammers, because thinking about that, thinking about how they saw her, always makes her uneasy and nervous with fear.

She saw them, too. She saw their faces, again. She saw them earlier that night, at the bar, and she saw them as one stepped out of the shadows and towards her, with a horrible smirk set on his features, while the other one pressed a blade against her body and threatened her.

Maggie pauses, because this is it; this is the moment that she says it out loud for the first time since it happened, this is the moment where she confirms all of Forrest's worst fears about that night, and this is the moment where she exposes her true emotions to Forrest.

Forrest has seen Maggie cry before, she's shed a few tears, and it hurt him to see her in pain and it angered him that he was unable to prevent it. But this, this was different. It didn't just hurt him to see her in pain, it didn't just anger him, it scarred him in ways he never thought he'd be susceptible to being scarred from.

"They…hurt…you…" Forrest says, he draws out the words slowly, because at least this way it is less like a sentence and more like a few unimportant words that he has just strung together. If he says it like this, if he says it drawn out with a few seconds between each word, then it hurts less to say; but, he realizes, the slower he says it the more it will hurt for Maggie to hear.

Maggie doesn't respond. She's gotten used to this lately, to not responding, to drifting off like this. She doesn't intend to be rude, she doesn't intend to be anything, and she isn't even aware that she's done it until Forrest squeezes her hand tightly and slowly brings her back to the present.

"They hurt you, didn't they?" Forrest says, without drawing the words out, because, even though it hurts more for him to say it like this, to say it like it is an actual sentence, an actual question, and not just a few meaningless words that he has just strung together in an unimportant sentence, he wants for it to be easier for Maggie to hear and for her to not have to be the one to bear the bulk of the pain.

"They did." Maggie agrees, she nods and wipes, with the hand that isn't intertwined with Forrest's, away at the remnants of tears on her cheeks.

"And…I killed them." Forrest replies.

He didn't regret doing it, not for a single second, and he'd do it again if he was given the chance; he'd kill those bastards a hundred times over, to make them suffer the way that they made Maggie suffer.

"So they ain't ever gonna be able to hurt you again." He tells her, and ducks his head a little so that he can get a better look into those misty eyes of hers.

If only Forrest knew just how wrong he was; because, to Maggie, it doesn't matter if they are dead or alive because they are still able to hurt her. Whether they are six feet under or not is all but irrelevant, they might as well be living and breathing for they are still able to cause Maggie to feel such fear and terror.

"I know." Maggie says meekly.

What she doesn't say is that they're still hurting her now, even with Forrest in the same room as her, even with Forrest still trying to protect her, they can still get to her and she doesn't think that they will ever leave her be.

"I don't think you do." Forrest says softly, like he can hear the doubts that she is too frightened to voice.

"I know they're dead, Forrest." she says, somewhat sharply, and instantly regrets taking her frustration and her fear out on Forrest.

"I ain't talkin' 'bout that, Maggie." he tells her. "They…uh…they can't hurt you anymore. You understand?"

_So long as I'm livin', so long as I'm on this earth, I won't let another bad thing happen to you again,_ he had said, when he awoke a few days after the shootout, and she had almost believed him; but then she had found out that she was pregnant, and she wanted to believe him, she wants to believe him more than anything, but he can't save her from those men, not when they are still tormenting her from beyond the grave.

_You ain't goin' nowhere?_ she had asked, and she wanted more than anything to believe this, to believe that he'd want her around, even after all that she'd put him through, and, while it would break her heart, she wouldn't blame him for wanting her gone; she'd brought trouble with her from Chicago.

_Not without you,_ he had replied, and he didn't even know just how much those three words meant to her, more than those other three words, because, for her entire life, no one had ever stayed by Maggie Beauford's side; but then along came Forrest.

_Not without you_, he had said, and those words were, strangely enough, the sweetest that she had ever heard; he didn't realize how much they meant to her, how much he meant to her, and now she'd never get the chance to express that to him.

Maggie honestly thinks that if she didn't show up at Franklin County, that Forrest wouldn't have had his throat cut and almost died, because of those men that were after her, Howard wouldn't be trying to drink himself dead because of the guilt that eats away at him, and she wouldn't be about to deliver devastating news to Forrest that could very well have her leaving Franklin County in the morning.

If Forrest didn't want a thing to do with her, after she told him, Maggie wouldn't blame him; even if it would break her beyond repair, she'd respect his wishes, she owed him that much.

"Look at me, Maggie." he says, and she has to refocus her eyes back onto his face.

"Sorry, I-I was…" Maggie stammers, the rest of her sentence drifts off, she can't find the proper words to tell him; not when he's watching her like that, so intently, so full of concern and care, and she doesn't want to change that, it can't change, because no one has ever looked at her like that before.

"What ain't you tellin' me, Maggie?" Forrest asks softly, almost sadly.

"I'm pregnant, Forrest." Maggie says the words slowly, after a prolonged period of silence, with a certain degree of difficulty.

Forrest remains expressionless and silent, and this, this silence and this lack of response, is more than a little daunting for Maggie who has only just mustered up the strength needed to say those words.

Forrest knew that Maggie was hiding something, that she was keeping something from him, but he isn't angered by it; he understands why she'd be frightened, why she'd be cautious, and why she'd want to keep it to herself. Forrest knew, as soon as he saw her, that there was something she was hiding; he could see it in her eyes, just how he could see it in Howard's eyes, which were glazed over from too much moonshine or whisky, or probably both, that there was something that he was lying about.

Forrest isn't even given a proper moment to process what Maggie's said before she is blurting out the next few words that, strangely, make Forrest's chest feel odd, like something in it sinks, "Or-or at least I thought I was." she says quickly, she tries desperately to fix it, to get Forrest to respond, to say something; because he didn't respond, and so she lied, she lied because she convinced herself that this is what he'd rather hear.

His reaction, or his lack of a reaction, was evidence enough of his true feelings

"Uh…you're not?" Forrest asks, and, for some strange reason, he feels almost saddened by her response.

"I thought that I was." she tells him. "But I'm not."

"You're sure?" he checks.

"I'm sure." she says, but she doesn't sound it, doesn't look it.

Once Maggie says the words, says the lies, she knows that there is no going back; no matter how desperately she wants to, no matter how much she wants to wind back the clocks and try this again, there is no going back; not after what Forrest says what he says next.

Forrest doesn't understand why he feels disappointed, he doesn't understand why he feels as though he has lost something that he never had, something that they never had, but what he does know and what he does understand is why he says what he says next.

"I thought that...I was gonna die on that bridge, an' all I could think 'bout was you…" Forrest pauses, he licks his bottom lip, and frowns slightly, almost as though he is deeply considering and carefully choosing his next few words, before he speaks again, in a soft voice, that is intimate like a whisper, "I don't want you thinkin' that...you have to go through somethin' like that alone...'cause you ain't alone, I ain't goin' nowhere."

Forrest clears his throat once before he looks at Maggie, he _really_ looks at her, and that look is what breaks her, and Maggie can't stop the tears from spilling or the horrid guilt from eating her alive. "I was thinkin' that...once I get out of here, we should get married."

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**A/N: **This is important!

Ok, guys, I've changed where I was going with the pregnancy storyline. I had intended to make this chapter, and the next, revolve around Forrest and his reaction, but I decided to change things up and I rewrote most of this to fit with where I would like to go now.

I changed things, to make the plot a little bit more complicated, and by doing so it means that I have more to work with which means I can continue writing this story for longer. Forrest won't have his reaction yet, but patience is a virtue, and I pinky swear that his reaction will occur soon.

If you have any thoughts on these changes, let me know?

These chapters keep getting bigger and bigger, so I will attempt to keep this short. Thank you all, it means so much to know that you are as interested in this story as I am, and I hope you continue to enjoy this.

My thoughts and prayers are will all of you who have suffered because of Sandy, I hope that you are all safe and recovering.**  
**

**X**

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Andin reply to **KC**who reviewed chapter 7,  
Thank you for your kind words, and for being lovely! I hope you continue to enjoy.


	9. All My Bones Began To Shake

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

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_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy

Maggie wakes early, with a small smile on her face, because she had dreamt of Forrest that night, and her smile only widens when she discovers that she has not only been fortunate enough to dream sweet dreams of Forrest Bondurant but she has been fortunate enough to wake to the sight of him; Forrest is perched on a stool, not far from her bedside, and he is wearing a brown button up shirt, with only the top button undone, and a pair of dark slacks with dust brown shoes.

Maggie lies on their mattress, she is tucked up warmly and safely underneath their bed sheets, and she stares out into the darkness; although it is still relatively dim outside, she can still pick up each and every detail that makes up Forrest and she can see him as clearly as though it were daytime and he were standing right before her.

The sun waits impatiently to rise, it hovers just out of sight, while the moon still basks in the glory of a time that is no longer night but is not yet day.

Maggie remains like that for some time, she soaks up the silence and the serenity and she simply watches Forrest watch her; she soaks up the peace that has befallen Blackwater Station this morning, and she cherishes the calm. Now is the time to rest, now is not the time to overthink and overanalyze, and it is definitely not the time to fuss and fret; for Maggie, it is the time to lay here lazily, for as long as she wishes, under the watchful eyes of her love.

With Forrest watching over her, and both Howard and Jack nearby in their own bedrooms, Maggie is able to truly savor the silence and the serenity. But, the darkness eventually turns to light; and when it fades away, it takes Forrest away with it.

As Forrest fades away, so does Maggie's smile.

He has not been gone mere moments, and he was never truly here in the first place, and yet she already wishes he would return; in his absence, the realization of what she has done dawns upon her.

Maggie sits up slowly in bed, she wants to follow Forrest, she wants to go where he goes, but since she can't she settles for staying in bed for the meantime and watching the sun as it slowly rises. Forrest's absence is felt all across Blackwater Station, from their bedroom to the bar, everything has changed.

This room is, somehow, even emptier than usual without Forrest in it; Maggie watches as the sun falls down across it, down through the window, and it slowly begins its journey across the old timber floorboards.

The sun slowly makes its way across the bedroom walls, and Maggie continues to watch it as it illuminates the old clippings that line the walls of Forrest's bedroom.

In all of this uncertainty, in this daze of pain and confusion, Maggie has always had one certainty; the Bondurant brother's. But now, she has gone and she has risked it all – and for what?

What and why did she risk it for? So she can hold onto her lies for a little longer? So she can pretend that she isn't carrying a child? So that she can delay the damage that she believes that she will inflict upon Forrest by revealing all that has occurred during his absence from Blackwater Station?

All that Maggie wants is to _be_ with Forrest, to stay by his side, and how she has risked that all and for what? For nothing, that's what; nothing can justify what she has done.

Forrest told Maggie that he didn't want her thinking that she had to endure something like that by herself, that he didn't want her to think that she had to go through something like that alone, and Maggie had honestly and truly believed that she was alone; she had foolishly believed so, even though Howard was always here and there, he was always by her side, loyal and sweet Howard, and she has not only risked what her and Forrest have, but she has risked Howard and Forrest's relationship as brothers.

Howard had let Forrest down, and he had sworn that he would never do such an unspeakable thing again; he promised and promised, until he was blue in the face, that he would never let Forrest down again – and then Maggie went and made him do exactly that.

Maggie forced Howard to lie to Forrest, she forced him to commit these acts of deceit by keeping things from Forrest, and she won't ever forgive herself if Forrest finds out and swears to never forgive Howard – they have been through too much, they have shed too much blood, to let something like this come between them, something that could have easily been sorted out, and could still be sorted out, with the truth, and Maggie can't bear the thought that the brothers may cease to exist and act as brothers because of her careless and reckless actions.

Maggie can see clearly now, the fog has lifted, and she feels foolish for not seeing it beforehand; if anyone will stay by her side, it will be the Bondurant's and they will do so indefinitely. Or, they would have, anyway, before her betrayal.

Before she betrayed and lied to Forrest, he would have done anything for her, Maggie doesn't doubt that, before she forced Howard to do the same, he also would have done anything for her, and if she loses them, if she loses out on this life, then she will have no one else to blame but herself; she will blame no one else but herself.

Maggie didn't sleep long, but she did sleep surprisingly well, considering that she hasn't had a deep and peaceful night sleep in weeks. Despite not sleeping long, Maggie finds that she can't fall back to sleep now, not with this guilt gnawing away at her, she had struggled in falling asleep last night, so she decides that she will take a bath instead.

After her bath, Maggie will make breakfast for Howard, who has helped her on countless occasions, to the point where she will never stop owing him and will never find the proper way to truly repay him for all that he has done, and for Jack, who will always do anything to see a smile on her face.

Last night, Maggie and Howard had talked; they hadn't talked a lot, but they had talked enough.

Maggie had brought Jack up his meal earlier, told him he could eat his dinner in bed just this once, and he grinned at her like this was the best news he had heard in weeks, of course this news would have to come in second place to his news that Howard was going to pick up Bertha and bring her around tomorrow.

Jack couldn't stop grinning, as Maggie gave his dinner to him, she thought his dinner might be cold by the time she left, because he couldn't stop talking about how excited he was, and she was glad that he had found someone as sweet as Bertha. Jack is a sweet kid at heart, and he deserves a love equally as sweet.

Maggie had left his bedroom door slightly ajar behind her, and she had headed back downstairs; Howard wasn't perched on a bar stool by the bar, that was where he slept some nights, he'd slouch over and slump against the bar uncomfortably until Maggie would wake him and usher him upstairs and into the spare room, Howard is tall and brawny and Maggie isn't, it proved to be difficult, but not impossible, to assist him upstairs but she did it every night he fell asleep downstairs anyway.

Even though she'd assist him to the spare room, pull the sheets up over him, somehow he'd end up in the hallway each morning. He was on guard, on watch, and even though he'd sleep there Maggie knew that he'd wake easily if she shoved him hard enough. She didn't approve of him sleeping there, she told him it would do terrible things to his back, but he simply replied that he had slept in worse places and she didn't doubt that for a second.

"I'm wrong…I know." Maggie admitted, as she took a seat opposite Howard, and Howard remained silent, politely so, because he was never one to say I told you so.

Howard was slumped back in a chair, with a jar of unopened moonshine on the table, they still had jars left, Howard had hidden some here and there at the Station, and he was deciding over whether or not to open what would be his third for the night.

"I-I got this all wrong." Maggie confessed, and Howard continued to remain silent; he simply watched her, with bloodshot eyes, and waited patiently for her to continue. "And I don't-I don't know how to fix it…" she added, and she sounded petrified.

"Fix it with the truth, Maggie." Howard told her.

That is what she is going to do, she went to bed that night and she was decided on that, she is going to confess, tell the truth, reveal it all to Forrest; because that is the only way to fix it, that is the only way to carry on.

The lies wouldn't help, the lies had only ever helped Maggie when it was only ever just Maggie, but it isn't just Maggie now, it is never going to be only just Maggie again, she has Forrest and Howard and Jack, and, most importantly, the baby.

Maggie lied to Forrest because she was frightened, she was fearful of his reaction, of his feelings, of how he would respond, and now she isn't frightened at all. She lied, because she didn't want to lose Forrest, because she was afraid to come to terms with the pregnancy, but now she isn't; Howard was right, when he said that she was wrong, and she was blind not to see it before.

Forrest Bondurant will be the one who will never leave her, neither will loyal Howard and sweet Jack, and she was too blinded by her fear, of the unknown and of the past, to let herself see that, to let herself see the happiness that accompanies this pregnancy.

It is still only early, the sun has only recently risen, so it is more than understandable that Howard and Jack are still sound asleep; Maggie doesn't wish to wake them, when Howard rarely sleeps as it is and Jack needs to do all the resting that he can, but when she steps outside of the bedroom and into the hallway she finds Howard slouched uncomfortably by the door.

Maggie shuts the door softly behind her, she decides that she ought to wake him and at least assist him over to the spare room so he can try and rest properly on a comfortable surface, the spare bed, rather than on the floor outside of Forrest's bedroom.

Although Howard has his own room, which is significantly smaller and strikingly different to the spare room, he and Maggie have had an unspoken agreement during Forrest's absence – Howard will stay close by, so to ensure that Maggie feels safe enough to rest, in order for her to properly regain her health, and he will stay close by so to give the both of them a peace of mind that she will remain safe and unharmed.

Howard stirs, but doesn't quite wake.

He reeks of whisky, and even after Maggie shakes his shoulder lightly and whispers his name he fails to respond and instead he continues to remain unresponsive; the only sound is his heavy breathing, so Maggie settles for retrieving a blanket from the spare bed and draping it over him.

Maggie feels even more awful, on top of the guilt that is already weighing down heavily upon her, as she had only wished for Howard to stay close by, to stay in the spare room, not to camp outside the bedroom door and sleep, in what appears to be the most uncomfortable of positions, on the timber but Howard insists.

When Forrest returns, Howard will return to his room, so he tells her, but there is something about the way that he says it that tells Maggie that he will still continue to fret for her and have erratic sleep patterns even with the knowledge that Forrest will be in the same room with Maggie and he is more than able to protect her.

Howard hates the thought, he recoils from it, that those men did _that_ to Maggie in their home, in what has now become Maggie's home, and it unsettles him to know that; he can't even begin to imagine how it has unsettled Maggie, he can see small things, small signs, that show how much it has unsettled her but nothing ever reveals the true and full extent.

After Maggie fills the bucket from the bathroom with fresh water from downstairs, lukewarm water, because the only time she has used scalding hot water was when she returned home on that horrid night, when she tried to scratch away the feel of their skin off of hers. Maggie walks back upstairs slowly, quietly, and once she closes the bathroom door firmly behind her she approaches the bathtub and pours the water into the tin bathtub before she strips out of her nightgown and steps into the water.

One foot at a time, with a single bar of soap clutched in one hand while her free hand grips the side of the bath to keep steady herself, Maggie lowers herself into the tub; she sits down slowly, one hand still holds the side of the tub to steady herself, because even though she has been eating regularly and catching up on hours of lost sleep she still feels quite lightheaded these days.

She releases her hold on the tub, and presses her bare back flat up against the cool tin.

The bathwater is warm, nicely so, but the tin of the tub is cool against the skin of her back; a perfect mix. Maggie stays like this in the water for some time, but then she begins to scrub softly at her skin with the small bar of soap that she clutches in her right hand.

Maggie scrubs lightly at her fair skin, she starts with her left arm and moves slowly up and towards the crease of her elbow; she turns her arm around, so that the palm of her left hand is facing upwards, and she scrubs at the skin there before she turns her arm back around and scrubs at the skin above her elbow.

The small bar of soap slips out from her hands as her eyes fall on the series of small bruises, that are barely there, and the small scars of cuts that mark the inside of her upper arm; they are from _that_ night, and Maggie doesn't understand how they could still stain her skin even after all of this time has passed by.

She turns towards her right arm quickly, she examines it and sees that are small cuts and a series of faded bruises, which are barely visible, also mark that arm.

Maggie shakes her head as she scoops up some of the tepid water in her right hand and brings it up to the pale skin of her left arm to wash away the remnants of soap that are left behind there; she repeats this process until her skin is clean, she can clearly see each scratch and mark, regardless of how small and barely visible they may be, and then she repeats the same process of cleaning and washing her right arm.

Maggie doesn't try to scrub at her skin until it hurts, until it bleeds, to erase the marks, because she knows that they will always be a part of her. As she glances back down at her arms, and sees that the markings are gone, she can't help but wonder if she succeeded in erasing that part of her past or if she made up the whole thing in her mind and there were never any scars there.

The marks are gone, so Maggie washes at the skin at her neck next, her shoulders, and then she brings the bar of soap up to her collarbone and gently scrubs there too. After she has washed away the foamy remnants that the bar of soap has left behind on her skin, she continues to wash until her entire body feels clean.

Once Maggie is dressed, in a pale blue dress, with matching blue heels, and once she is done attending to the bath so that it is empty and that the bucket is beside it, incase either of the brothers wish to bathe before or after breakfast, she heads downstairs where she starts to cook.

* * *

Forrest wakes early.

It is warm, uncomfortably so, and the sheets stick to his body like a second skin.

It always gets hot like this just before a big storm, and since the clouds have been rolling in for weeks now, and the skies can't seem to stop rumbling, Forrest isn't all that surprised that it has been raining on and off for days now; he expects the storm will hit any day now, preferably once he has returned back to the Station, as he doesn't want anything to delay his return.

Forrest rises before the sun does. He drags a chair over to the window, the blinds still drawn shut, and he simply sits there and closes his eyes; he imagines that he is back at the station, out on the verandah out the front, where he can be with his family and see to it that they were protected.

It isn't that Forrest doesn't believe that Howard can protect Maggie and Jack, because he believes that Howard can, and it isn't that Forrest doesn't trust Howard, because despite his failures Forrest still continues to have the utmost trust in his older brother, it's more that Forrest feels useless and blind here; like he's missing something that he isn't supposed to be missing.

Forrest still continues to trust Howard, his trust in Howard will never diminish, it was just his confidence in his brother's reliability that waned, and he will continue to trust Howard; because he is as loyal as they get.

Forrest imagines that he is back at the station, where he is actually doing something with his day; instead of being here, stranded at the hospital, where he feels useless. Forrest doesn't like letting good days go to waste, days where one could actually be doing something productive, because all that he has been doing lately is sitting in bed doing a whole lot of nothing and he despises it.

Forrest was bedridden for long enough when the influenza hit, and when he had his throat slit, and he'd prefer to be out of bed, even if he was just sitting on the verandah in his chair doing nothing; because at least that way he wouldn't be bound to a single room, he wouldn't be confined by four walls of solitude.

Forrest is back in bed now, because while he'd rather be up and about he doesn't exactly wish to spend more time in here than what he has to. He leans back in bed, with the sheets kicked back, and he sits and watches the door like some sad, lovesick dog that half expects their love to walk through it.

Maggie had left abruptly, and Forrest still couldn't decipher what exactly had happened; he couldn't make sense of it, he thought she'd be happy, at the least, and she was momentarily; before she remembered something, before a thought struck her, and then she was gone.

She didn't leave the room just yet, but Maggie was gone; her walls were back up, the ones she put up to try and conceal herself and conceal something from others, the walls that he has spent so long trying to take down, and he wasn't speaking with Maggie anymore.

"I was thinkin' that, once I get out of here…we should get married." Forrest had said, and then Maggie had smiled; she had smiled like he hadn't seen in weeks, he had missed that smile, but then that smile had faded away and Forrest was once again unable to shake the feeling that there was something that Maggie Beauford was keeping from him.

Every man and woman were entitled to their own secrets, Forrest respected that, he had secrets of his own, but he couldn't help but want to know what it was that had Maggie so damn torn up inside.

"W-what?" Maggie stammered, and blinked, like she might not have heard him properly.

"Uh…I was thinkin' that-" Forrest started to repeat himself, but Maggie spoke over him softly.

"No, no I heard you." Maggie said, and her hand shook as she pulled it away and out of Forrest's hold.

Forrest frowned as Maggie removed her hand from his, he was too late to catch her hand, too late to hang onto her, hold here there, keep her by his side and keep her safe, find out what it truly was that was bothering her so, but Maggie was swift in her movements and she had taken her hand away from Forrest's and she had taken herself away from Forrest and was standing by the end of the hospital bed before Forrest could stop her.

"You goin' somewhere?" He asked her, even though he knew that she was.

"I just…" Maggie started to say, she was drawing in sharp breathes between words, as though she was struggling to breathe, let alone speak, and Forrest fretted for her greatly. "I have to go, Forrest."

Forrest sat up in bed, he swiftly swung his legs over the edge and stood but Maggie backed away from him, like she was frightened, perhaps, and he stopped approaching her immediately; because even though he couldn't identify what the fear was in her eyes, he never wanted to be the reason behind or the cause for that sort of fear that flickered through her eyes.

Forrest had seen that fear before, he recognized it, from what they spoke of that night, and he had felt immediately ill because _he _was the one who had caused a similar look to flash through her eyes. Was Maggie fearful of him? Forrest wondered if that might be so, but he had never raised a hand to her, he had never spat a cruel word at her, he would never do either of the two and he would never do a thing to harm her or frighten her, and yet she backed away from him as though he was the predator and she was the helpless prey.

_You ain't goin' nowhere? _Maggie asked that morning, when he woke from the shoot-out.

Maggie asked Forrest that, because all that she wanted was to stay with him, to go where he did, to follow him, to stay by his side indefinitely, but not now; now, she was the one going somewhere.

_Not without you,_ Forrest had told her, he had promised, and he'd meant each word.

And he wasn't going away, he wasn't the one leaving, _she_ was, and he was still right here in this damned hospital bed, while she was the one leaving, without him, even though he intended on never leaving her.

"Maggie?" He called out after her, but she slipped away and out of his sight before he could stop her.

Forrest thought about chasing after her, in his hospital attire and all, but he thought better of it.

He had asked her to marry him – well, he had suggested that they bed married; which is practically the same thing – and she had left, without giving him an answer and with only giving Forrest a sad look before she stepped away from him.

Tears spilled down her face, and he had thought that marriage was what she wanted, because it was what he wanted, he thought that she would want the security of marriage, the dependability, because he hadn't always been dependable, the reliability and the lifetime together, and yet she'd shown him no indication of what it was that she wanted.

He guessed that Maggie wished to be left alone, and he knew that chasing her would only force her further away, and he didn't want that; Forrest didn't ever want her away, so he'd give her time, in order to get her to stay. If time was what she needed, and space, and he'd wait for her; he'd always wait.

Forrest would wait, because he'd never find another like Maggie; he knew that, he accepted that, and he also accepted that if she were to leave him he wouldn't be the one to keep her against her will. If she left, it'd scar him, and he'd never be able to truly let her go; she'd always stay with him, always around him, reminders of all that she is, and he knew that he'd never find another, and he'd never want to find another, like her.

Forrest will never be with another, like he is with Maggie. And he is a Bondurant, he has never been one to give up easily; he won't be giving up on her anytime soon, because she has never once given up on him.

Maggie slipped away from Forrest, at the hospital, with tears spilling down her pale cheeks. As she slipped away, she ignored looks of concern that were thrown her away as she snuck away from Forrest and down a corridor. She hadn't heard the voices that questioned her, and whether she was OK, because all she heard was the sound of Forrest's broken voice calling out to her as she walked away.

He had looked so broken, but not bitter.

Maggie continued walking away, from Forrest and from the lies she left behind with him, and she was the one doing all the leaving this time; she briefly wondered if this was how it felt for Forrest, all those times that he left her behind, and she despised the feeling – she had felt guilty, not only for leaving him answerless but for lying through her teeth to him.

Maggie stepped around another corner, into an empty hallway, and she pressed her back up against the wall and she pressed her hand to her mouth as she attempted to stifle a sob that threatened to slip from her lips; she closed her eyes, and shook with silent sobs in the cold and desolate hallway of the hospital while Forrest was only a matter of rooms away.

As Maggie stepped outside and onto the pavement, she didn't have to look to confirm that those were Forrest's eyes watching her from the hospital window above; the tears had dried long ago, they had stained her cheeks and she had wiped them away as though they meant nothing –but each tear held meaning, each one meant something, each one was representative of a sorrow she felt, of a lie, of a heartache, and she knew that even though she wiped them away that they would always stain her; they seeped through, and into her skin, they had marked her long ago, and there was no washing away those scars.

Maggie opened the passenger door and slid into the seat without a word, and without glancing up at Forrest, who was surely by the window as soon as she departed from the hospital room that he occupied and so he surely knew that there had been some delay, that something had happened to prevent Maggie from returning outside immediately, Forrest was observant like that, and she found that she couldn't look at him; couldn't face him, couldn't bare the weight of his eyes.

She said not a word to Howard, who briefly glanced up at the hospital window and found Forrest watching solemnly from his perch, and he started up the car with only slight hesitation. They sat in silence for the entire drive home, until Howard decided to speak up moments before their arrival back at Blackwater Station.

"How's Forrest?" Howard asked, innocently enough.

"He's just fine." Maggie told him, and Howard frowned.

"You didn't tell him?" Howard questioned, and Maggie didn't respond.

She didn't see it as a question, but more as a statement.

Maggie couldn't respond, she had already buried them both deep enough in this mess, and she didn't wish to involve Howard anymore from this point on. Maggie didn't need to answer, though, and Howard had known the moment that he saw Forrest waiting by the window with a grave expression while Maggie stepped down the front stairs of the hospital slowly, almost as though she was in a daze, that Maggie didn't tell Forrest.

Howard knew that Maggie was wrong, about Forrest, he had told her so but she just wouldn't listen; that was all he'd say, "You're wrong, you know, about Forrest." and that was all he had to say.

She was wrong, about Forrest, because she assumed that he wouldn't want a part in the pregnancy and that he'd never want to play father – Forrest would put all of the hatred that he felt for those men aside, even though they had committed those heinous acts against Maggie and they had attacked Forrest with the intention of killing him, and he'd show only affection to that child, to their child, and that was how Forrest would see it.

Howard knew his brother, he knew that Forrest would see the baby as his own, because that was how he was raised; he wouldn't leave, he wouldn't ask Maggie to leave, and he'd stay with her indefinitely. They would raise the child, together, as though it was his child; because it _was_ his child.

Sure, he may have his doubts; but he'd never voice them, he'd never let them change anything, because that's how irrelevant the paternity would be to Forrest; he would never want anything more than to just be with Maggie, to have a life with her, and Howard knew that Forrest wasn't dumb enough to ever risk what the two of them found with each other.

But as they reached Blackwater Station, Howard couldn't find it in himself to tell Maggie that she was wrong, about Forrest, because her expression told Howard that she knew that already, that she knew that all along but was blinded by others things and didn't see it in time, and that she knew just how terribly wrong she was about everything; Howard was never one to say I told you so, not to anyone but Jack anyway.

Howard had been right, he knew that Forrest would stay by her side always, and Maggie had been wrong; but he didn't felt right, and he was as sure as hell that Maggie felt wrong. Howard couldn't even begin to imagine how Maggie was feeling; she looked torn, torn up about her actions, completely torn to shreds inside, but she refused to reveal any other emotion other than confliction.

* * *

Howard wakes to the smell of whisky, and bacon. The smell of bacon, which is being cooked downstairs, wafts up the stairs, and he can hear the sound of Maggie's joyous laughter, like the chiming of bells, and Jack's incessant chattering. From where he is uncomfortably collapsed in the hallway, he knows that the strong stench of whisky is coming off of him.

Howard glances around slowly, still groggy with sleep, and notices that there is a blanket draped over him; he pulls it away from his body, which aches, and he stands slowly, with the help of the wall to guide him. He uses the wall to lean against, to assist him up, and once he is on his two feet again he slumps against it with one shoulder.

He drank a lot of liquor last night, not more than usual but enough to make him stop thinking about his involvement in all of the lies that have been told and all of the secrecy that has taken place during Forrest's absence. He closes his eyes and rubs at them, before he rubs at his temples and attempts to stop the throbbing pain that is buried somewhere deep within his skull.

"You excited to see Bertha today?" Maggie asks Jack with a big smile, he nods back eagerly, he has a mouthful of food, and Maggie understands. "You miss her?"

"I did." Jack declares, before he asks, just as Maggie turns back around the pan. "Are you excited you get to see Forrest?"

Maggie freezes, briefly, before she turns to face Jack with an actual smile, nothing faux or forced, and when she replies she is genuine and means every single word that she says.

"I am, Jack." Maggie tells him, because she is, she is excited to start their lives together; while she was frightened of his reaction, she now sees that she was wrong, that she had nothing to be frightened of, especially not the father of their baby, and she can't wait to tell Forrest everything and fix this, fix them, fix herself.

"You miss him?" Jack enquires.

"Always." Maggie says with a small smile.

Howard washes up, quickly, before he heads downstairs to find Maggie behind the bar; she is cooking breakfast, and engaging in friendly conversation with Jack, who is perched on a bar stool opposite from where Maggie stands near the pan.

Howard also sees that she has set a place down for Howard beside Jack, who is as jolly as ever, since he is seeing Bertha today.

The sound of his heavy boots on the stairs is what alerts Maggie that Howard is awake, she had thought that she had faintly heard him rustling about upstairs but she couldn't be sure; and when he steps through the archway and into the bar, she shoots him a quick smile before she turns back to the pan behind her.

"Good mornin', Howard." Maggie chimes, and Howard knows that it's just an act that she is putting on for Jack.

Maggie is trying to show Jack that she is just fine, by acting chirpy and cheery, like her old self, but both Howard and Maggie know that she is anything but her old self.

"Mornin'…" Howard replies.

As he approaches the barstool beside Jack, he smacks him up the side of the head; effectively knocking his hat off and causing it to fall to the floor. "What'd I say about hats inside, Jack?" he asks.

"What you talkin' bout?" Jack asks, before he reaches for his hat and retrieves it from the floor of the bar.

Once he grabs it, Howard tosses it across the bar; and this causes Jack to not only curse, for which Howard gives him another nice slap for, but to have to stamp over and retrieve it, he mumbles crankily the whole way.

Howard takes a seat and smiles smugly after Jack.

Before Jack returns, Maggie leans across the bar to Howard and whispers, "I'm tellin' Forrest today." she tells him. "I'm tellin' him everythin'."

Howard smiles at her, nods approvingly, and Jack returns shortly after; his mouth falls open, he is aghast, as he sees Howard with his own hat on. He lifts his own hand, to do to Howard what Howard had done to him, but Howard takes hold of his wrist before he can blink.

"No hats on when there's lady's about." Howard states, and takes off his own hat, he places that down on the bar beside his plate before he releases Jack's wrist and flashes Maggie, who is watching the two of them fondly from the mirror that hangs above where all the grills and pans are, a small smile. "Gotta show some respect, Jack." he tells him.

"What you doin', Howard?" Jack questions. "I just got back from hospital, and you beatin' on my already?"

"I ain't beatin on you, Jack, quit whinin'." Howard says gruffly, but there is a fondness to his voice that Jack picks up on, but says not a word about; Jack just smiles to himself.

"I think you are." Jack says with a small smile.

"Is that so?" Howard asks, as he drags his eyes away from the pan where Maggie is cooking and turns to face Jack with an unimpressed look on. "You think that's beatin'? I'll show you beatin', boy." he promises, before he lunges at Jack and starts to ruff up his hair like he always did in the old days.

Maggie serves Howard breakfast, and tells him to stop roughhousing with Jack so that Jack can enjoy a proper meal, to which Jack gains Maggie's sympathy by telling her that the hospital food had nothing on her great cooking. Howard wants to smack him again, but refrains, and instead eats his meal while Maggie pours him a mug of coffee.

"Why you so dressed up anyway?" Howard questions, after he finishes breakfast and thanks Maggie, and he stands up from the bar and scoops up Jack's hat to hand it to him with a small smile.

"You're kiddin' me, Howard." Jack says, and he isn't smiling.

"You're bringin' Bertha by today." Maggie prompts, but Howard stares at Jack blankly and blinks.

"You said you was goin' to go and get Bertha today!" Jack says, and his voice almost goes shrill.

"I said that?" Howard asks, and he's only messing with Jack; of course he remembers, that promise that he'd go and get Bertha tomorrow was the only thing that made Jack go to bed and rest for the remainder of the day.

Jack nods.

"What makes you think that the preacher's gonna let his daughter drive off with a Bondurant?" Howard asks, and Jack smiles.

"Go 'round the side. Make sure he ain't there, wait if you have to, and she'll sneak right out with you."

"An' what makes you think that the preacher's daughter is gonna drive off with a Bondurant?" Howard questions seriously, because there is only so much of the Bondurant's that outsiders can handle.

"She'll come." Jack says, and he isn't oozing with confidence, like he was when he was swaning around in their daddy's old suits, and he isn't boasting, he's simply telling Howard.

Howard leaves, he steps out onto the porch, through the front doors, and before he closes the doors behind him he turns to face Maggie; she gives him a smile, and he doesn't believe it for a second. He lets the doors close, and he walks down the front stairs slowly, reluctantly, he feels as though he shouldn't be leaving, like he should be staying and watching over the two of them, just like he promised Forrest he would do, but instead he's leaving and doing young Jack's bidding.

Howard is halfway to town when he turns back. It's not like he doesn't know where the religious folk live, because he does, because he makes sure to steer clear of there if he's ever drunk and stumbling around in town, because those folk sure don't like you trespassing on their property, he's been chased with a pitchfork once, it's just he doesn't know which house is Bertha's and he doesn't exactly feel like getting chased around by multiple pitchforks cause he snuck into the wrong backyard.

There's got to be dozens and dozens, and he's bound to get caught by someone, and they all say and believe that the Bondurant's are trouble so they'll want none of that trouble being brought to their lands.

Howard heads back home, to get proper directions, to get a more specific idea of where Miss Bertha lives, and he knows that something is wrong the very moment that he pulls up to the house; Jack would have been watching, he would have been waiting by the window, or on the porch, and instead he is nowhere to be seen.

"Jack?" Howard calls out, slightly wary of the eerie silence that has fallen over the county, as he shuts the car door loudly behind him.

Jack would have heard the car pull up, he would have heard the engine, he would have recognized the sound of his own car and the sound of the wheels on the dirt and gravel, and yet he hasn't shown his face yet. Jack would have definitely heard Howard shout out, whether he was upstairs or not was irrelevant, he would have heard his oldest brother's booming voice, he _should_ have heard his older brother's booming voice.

"You playin' games, Jack?" Howard asks, and he might as well be asking the wind because that's the only reply he receives; the wind howls around him, picking up debris and leaves on its way past him. "You better not be playin games, Jack." he warns, because he isn't in a mood for games, he hasn't been in a mood for games for months, especially when it is in relation to his family and their wellbeing.

"Jack!" Howard calls out, and he isn't shouting out to him, he's shouting out _at_ him, as he stomps up the front steps of the verandah and bursts inside.

It's empty inside, and Howard's heart pauses before it plummets.

"Jack?!" Howard shouts, and he can't stop the panic that he feels from seeping into his words. "Maggie?!"

Howard faintly hears noise upstairs, and he darts towards the stairs without a second thought; he takes the stairs two at a time, not stopping until he reaches the top, and that's when he finds them.

_There he is_, Howard thinks with a sigh as he sees Jack standing in hallway, just outside of Maggie's room, the door is slightly ajar, and Howard can see Maggie's red hair from here. _There she is_, Howard thinks, and sighs inwardly once more. He feels like taking his belt off and smacking Jack with it, for making him get all worked up and worried about his welfare for nothing.

"Jesus, Jack, would it kill you to answer?" Howard barks, and Jack still doesn't respond. "You need your ears cleaned out, boy?" he yells, sounding more cross than he intends.

Jack falters, he almost turns to look at Howard but doesn't quite make it, he almost glances over his shoulder, but his head stutters and turns back around; it's like he can't break eye contact with whatever it is he's looking at, it's like he is entranced, mortified, captivated, captured, and he can't break away.

Maggie is in her and Forrest's bedroom, Jack's hand is propped up against the door, in a knuckle, like he had been knocking, or about to, and had faltered in his movements and in his footsteps; it is like he is frozen at her door, unmoving and unresponsive.

Howard can't quite see what it is that Jack is staring out, what's got him all tongue tied, and what's got Maggie as still as a statue; from where Howard stands, it looks as though Maggie staring straight down at her shoes, which can't be right – the alarm bells started ringing when he couldn't find the two of them, and now the alarm bells are blaring, screaming at him, that something is wrong, something isn't right, something horrible has happened.

Howard steps forward, to see what it is, and oh _god_ how he wishes he could take a step back, he wishes he could take a hundred steps back, and take everything back, undo it all, fix all his failures, turn back the time and make sure that he was there on time on that night.

Because of Howard, because of his failure and his tardiness, Maggie had to suffer because of those men, and the suffering never seems to cease for her, it knows no limits and it knows no end, and Howard shouldn't ever forgive himself, not for this, because he's horrid and bad and he's truly just as cursed as they say he is, they are all just as cursed as they say they are, and now that Maggie is more of a Bondurant than she is a Beauford she has inherited that curse.

As Howard steps forward slowly, he instinctively steps in front of Jack, a pointless attempt at trying to shield him from this, there is no protecting him from it, it will only ever follow them around, faithfully and mockingly, and it will never leave them be.

Jack doesn't say a word, he doesn't make a peep, he doesn't try to move to see past Howard, he stays frozen in horror and shock at what he has just seen; he couldn't bring himself to move if he tried, couldn't bring himself to scream, for help, for someone, for anything, and Howard just keeps taking those slow steps forward, one foot at a time, and Jack wants to run, he wants to get help, he has to stop this, someone has to stop it, because this can't have happened, it can't be happening, this shouldn't be real.

"Maggie…" Howard murmurs, his voice a low croak, his eyes burn and he blinks harshly at what is burning them, and even as he repeats her name again, a soft and low 'Maggie', she still doesn't respond.

"Oh, god, Maggie…" Howard says, as he gets a look up close.

Jack makes a small sound behind Howard.

Maggie is unmoving, unseeing, and unresponsive; she simply stares down at her left hand, which trembles slightly. Maggie won't move, she won't see, she won't respond; because she can't, she can't do this, she can't move, she can't see, she can't respond.

Maggie continues to stare down at her hand, almost as though it isn't her own, and she can't drag her eyes away from it, she can't look at Howard, or Jack, she can't move, she has to hold this moment where it is now, she has to pause it, halt it, and then rewind it.

Her left hand starts to shake uncontrollably, like a drunkard with an insatiable craving for a drink, but she otherwise remains still.

"Maggie." Howard says her name softly, sadly, but she doesn't quite hear him.

Howard reaches out, to steady her by holding her arm lightly, but she doesn't take kindly to any sudden movements and she retreats immediately; she'd smack Howard's hand away, if her own weren't covered in blood.

Maggie drops her hand, she holds them down by her side, and that's when Howard sees the blood that stains the front of her pale dress. She looks up at him, she drags her eyes away from her hand and she drags them up to Howard's; but then she sees where he is looking, where Jack was looking, where the blood has seeped through and stained her dress, and she responds.

Maggie moved, she saw, and now she is responding.

She shoves past both of the Bondurant brother's, who are both in some sort of daze, they can't seem to focus, but at the same time they can't seem to drag their eyes away from the blood.

Howard follows her, he tells Jack to stay, and he watches as Maggie staggers to the bathroom and shuts the door firmly behind her, with shaky and bloodstained hands before she locks it; then, she falls to her feet, she crumbles and breaks down into a sobbing mess, as the blood continues to seep.

Howard pleads with her, he begs, he bangs on the door and cries out for her to open it.

Maggie yells back, her voice has turned hysterical but she doesn't care, and she screams for him to go, she screams for him to leave, that she doesn't need him, but her words turn to sobs and Howard can't make sense of her pleas anymore.

Everyone says that these Bondurant brothers are tainted, unholy, cursed even, they say that it is ungodly how many times they have come face to face with death only to escape its icy hold; but there is no escaping this.

There is no immortality here, there is only death, and there is no escaping this; there is no escaping the strangled and sorrowful shrieks of a mother in mourning.

* * *

**A/N: **Firstly, I'd like to let it be known that there is an actual reason behind Maggie's miscarriage. You guys will just have to have faith in me, and believe that all this pain and suffering will be worth it, and they will have their happy ending eventually.

I know that I may have potentially pissed some people off with this twist, for there are those of you who are extremely keen for Maggie to be pregnant and for there to be a little Bondurant running about, but now isn't the time for that.

Maggie is still, understandably, unhinged. Both her and Forrest need to properly heal first, imo anyway, and I swear that I am not sadistic, I don't like suffering, and Maggie's miscarriage has a reason behind it; it plays a big part in the overall storyline.

Secondly, I'd like to thank all you lovely readers. I wouldn't be writing this if it wasn't for you guys! Feel free to leave feedback, I am always interested to hear your thoughts.

Thirdly, my apologies for the tardiness in updating. I've had family commitments, and couldn't get to a laptop until tonight. I do apologize for any spelling errors, as it is late and I am exhausted.

My thoughts and prayers are with you all in the US.

**X**

* * *

**Guest Reviewer #1:  
**Thank you! I am terribly sorry for making you cry _ I hope that this chapter doesn't evoke the same emotion. I can't promise anything, though. I teared up while writing it.

**Guest Reviewer** **#2:**  
Thank you, lovely! I took your advice. How's +8000? Here's moar. ENJOY xD

**Guest Reviewer #3:  
**Thank you, and thanks for asking that question. I definitely understand that there may be some confusion in regards to the paternity, as I haven't stated explicitly, and that would be because even I am uncertain. There is no way of knowing, not in those days, and any assumptions made by the characters are exactly that; assumptions.

Maggie believes that the father is one of those two men, because she is automatically assuming the worst, but there has and will be no definite confirmations. Only assumptions.

**Guest Reviewer #4:  
**Aw, thank you! You're so lovely. Yes, they definitely are a memorable movie couple. And my apologies, I will try to keep the updates regular from now.


	10. My Eyes Flew Open

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy

Maggie Beauford is dangling precariously between this woeful world of regret and reality, and the pleasantly detached and distant world of denial.

If she falls, if she releases her hold on reality, if she allows herself this indulgence, this ignorance, then she will cease to feel, cease to suffer, cease to mourn. But if she holds on, if she pulls herself back up, if she allows herself to feel, to register, to accept, then she could potentially lose herself in a perpetual state of sorrow.

Maggie is no stranger to sorrow, or misery.

Throughout the course of her life, Maggie has become acquainted with both sorrow and misery; but she has never been one to dwell on her own sufferings, for they will consume you, own you, control you, but this type of sorrow is not like any other.

This heart wrenching hurt, this complete and utter devastation, this knife to the heart, this insufferable pain is a completely different kind of sorrow; a sorrow that Maggie does not know if she can withstand.

She allows herself to slip, to release her hold on reality, and she discovers that she doesn't mind this state of denial and detachment. As she pulls herself back up, she feels the sharp sting of reality bite her, tear into her flesh, and it breaks her down, tears her to shreds, within seconds.

Reality is rampant with remorse and regret.

The tears never cease spilling down her cheeks, even though she feels as though she no longer has a tear left to shed; she has cried until she no longer can, and yet the tears continue to trickle down her cheeks like the drizzle of light rain.

Although she feels as though she no longer has it in her to hold any more pain, the pain never leaves her; it is always present, always nagging at her, tugging at her, tearing at her, disintegrating slowly, bringing her down and breaking her.

Maggie's heart swells with sorrow as she looks down upon her trembling hands and sees the rich red that stains them; that same red is smeared across her, it stains her legs, her dress, always her hands. She allows for another sob to escape, a loud and sad sound, as she finds that she no longer possesses the strength, mental or physical, to refrain from it.

The tight pain in her chest draws her in now, and it consumes her completely; it takes ahold of her frail body, her fragile mind, and she finds that she also doesn't possess the strength required to fight it off.

Maggie wasn't born a fighter.

Over the course of time and great trials, she grew into it.

Before Maggie Beauford arrived at Blackwater Station, she saw herself as strong, resilient, determined, but that was before. Prior to her arrival, she had endured great and she had honestly believed that she came out on the other side as a stronger woman; but now, she believes that those sorrows only weakened her and that the pain only wore her down.

Maggie's pale, stained hands tremble uncontrollably as she struggles to make sense of it all; she tries to figure out what went wrong, where it all went wrong, why it all _feels_ so wrong, and she struggles to remain calm as she stares down at the blood, so rich and red, which marks her, always on her.

It seems to always stain her skin.

* * *

Howard stands still and solemn, as though he were in attendance to a funeral, outside of the bathroom door; he is, in a way, attending a funeral of sorts. A life has been tragically lost, and all that is left behind to prove that life ever existed is the blood and the sorrowful sobs of a mother in mourning.

Jack is yet to move, yet to put the pieces together, yet to comprehend; he remains where he is, frozen by Forrest and Maggie's bedroom door, and he continues to stare off blankly into the wide and open space of their bedroom.

Jack stares off as though he is in a daze, transfixed by it all, horrified and mortified and confounded; the sun continues to shine outside, it trickles into Forrest and Maggie's room, ignorant to all that has just occurred inside.

Howard is unmoving, unhelping, unbelieving.

He can't move; his feet feel as though they are nailed to the very floorboards beneath his feet. He can't help; his words have died somewhere, ended abruptly before they reached his lips. He can't believe; his mind won't allow him to, he can't consider, or comprehend, that such an awful thing could have just occurred.

Somehow, sometime later, Howard manages to move.

He doesn't know just how much time has passed, all that he knows is that it has; it's passed by, gone, irretrievable, unchangeable, unforgettable, and there is not a thing that he or anyone else can do to get it back, to fix it, to change it, to make it better.

Howard forces himself forward; he puts one foot forward, then another, and he _has_ to keep going. He doesn't have a choice, he has to keep going, he has to move, he has to get help, he has to do something; Howard _has_ to react, respond, reach out, repair.

Howard reluctantly abided by what Maggie asked of him, as he knew that his presence may only serve to cause her further distress, further discomfort, and he doesn't wish to aggravate her, agitate her, anger her, or force her further away, further into her sorrow, into herself, and he doesn't want that at all.

He barely notices his movements. He steps away slowly, reluctantly, even though his mind screams for him to stay, because that is what Maggie begged of him; she begged for him to leave her be. He turns his back on Maggie, just how he swore that he never would, because she _is_ family, and when he reaches Jack's side he realizes that he doesn't even recall moving.

Howard is functioning without functioning, living without living, being without being; just like Maggie.

Howard stands by Jack's side for a moment, silent and still, before he realizes that his mouth is yet to catch up with his actions, with his intentions, and he continues to simply stand there, like Jack is now, like Maggie had done earlier, with his mouth agape and his eyes glazed over.

Howard doubts that he will ever be able to pass this bedroom again without seeing such an awful sight, Maggie standing there with her hands stained with crimson, her dress wet with that same red, and a horrified look set on her pale and tired features; he doubts that he will ever be able to pass this room again without thinking back on the trauma, the horror, the death.

When Howard sits at the bar, he can sometimes picture that night.

So he drinks, for that reason and for countless others, until he is close to forgetting his failures, Forrest's pain, and Maggie's sorrow. Once he is close to forgetting, he proceeds to drink some more until he forgets his name and the curse that is attached to it.

Jack moves slowly, cautiously, and Howard has to blink hard to wake himself up and bring himself back to reality.

There is a horror in the youngest Bondurant brother's eyes, Howard sees this as he meets Jack's confused, worried, fearful stare and this unnerves Howard; but before Howard can say or do something, he sees Maggie again.

There she is, standing before the both of them; bloodstained and unmoving.

Howard has to blink hard, again, to bring himself back to the present, regardless of how painful it may be. Maggie isn't there, she is still in the bathroom, and yet his mind is attempting to deceive him into believing otherwise. He thinks he can hear a voice, distant and scared, and he shakes himself back to reality once more, for good, and finds that Jack is looking up at him expectantly.

"Howard…" Jack says quietly, his voice low like a whisper.

Howard had almost missed the sound completely, he almost hadn't heard the shakiness in Jack's voice, the confusion, and Howard knows that he can't do this. He can't allow Jack to do this, either, because if Jack breaks down he can't do a thing to help his youngest brother; not when Maggie is the one who is broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

Howard can't let this happen right now.

Even though he wants to help, wants to make that horrified look in Jack's eyes disappear, Howard knows, and reluctantly accepts, that he and Forrest can't protect Jack from all that there is in this life. No matter how much they both want to, they can't. They have tried to, tried until they couldn't try no more, but there are certain things that you can't be protected or shielded from; particularly if you are a Bondurant and you are branded with the mark of death for all to see.

Forrest and Howard never wanted this sort of life for Jack.

They never wanted Jack to become a part of the violence, the bloodshed, the death; they never wanted this life for Jack, but sometimes Howard wonders if there is any other sort of life out there for a Bondurant. Death follows their footsteps, wherever it is they may go in this world, and there is no protecting Jack from that.

"I'm goin' into town…" Howard mumbles.

Jack can't hear him, but Howard doesn't blame him; he can barely hear the sound of his own hoarse voice, not when all he can hear is the silence that only death can bring.

"You're stayin'," Howard says, and Jack nods. "You hear me?"

Jack doesn't answer verbally, instead he nods belatedly and continues to stare off blankly; he stares off, straight through Howard, straight by him, as though he can't see Howard right now, as though Howard isn't actually there. Jack nods, blinks, breathes, but doesn't show any other sign that he is indeed listening and understanding what it is that Howard is telling him.

Jack's eyes are still glazed over, glossy with fear, confusion, horror, but Howard can't help; he has to go in to town, he has to fetch the Doctor, bring him back to Blackwater Station and get Maggie help as soon as possible.

"Jack?"

When Jack does finally move, he doesn't quite meet Howard's eyes; so Howard takes ahold of both of Jack's shoulders in his hands and gives them a light shake, as though this will shake the sense and the life back into the youngest Bondurant brother.

"I'm goin' in town, alright?" Howard says slowly, he draws the words out, makes them slower, so that Jack might hear them. "An' you're stayin'."

Jack mumbles small words of agreement, he drops his eyes down to the floorboards before they snap back up, as though he has only just understood what it is that Howard has asked of him, and he asks, quickly, "Wha-what?" he stammers, "I ain't like—I can't go in there, Howard, I can't help."

Howard disagrees, because neither have a choice, "You can."

"I ain't good at-at-" Jack starts to stammer, but stops when Howard speaks over him.

"You ain't got a choice, Jack." Howard says, softly but sternly, because it's the truth.

The fear that Jack feels, for Maggie's wellbeing, and the confusion that he feels towards this entire situation is evident in the way that his eyes dart back and forth between the bathroom door and Howard's face.

"I can't." Jack says.

"Maggie's family," Howard states, and this statement alone seems to bring Jack back to his senses. "An' we Bondurant's ain't ever let family down."

Jack calms down completely shortly after, and Howard even manages to coax him into moving; he places his calloused hands on Jack's shoulders and leads him over towards the bathroom door. He tells Jack, in a hushed voice, that he will be back as soon as he can and that if Maggie were to call out that Jack were to make sure that he was listening, to make sure that he was strong for her because she needed him, she needed them, she needed that.

Howard leaves Jack, he leaves Maggie, leaves Jack alone with Maggie, but Jack wonders if they are ever truly alone; when Death is always present, always with them, never leaving them be, how can they ever truly be alone?

Jack doesn't like the idea of being alone, not at such a time, not while she is in such a state, so he calls out for her, voice soft and sad, and she doesn't reply; not with words, anyway. The only sounds that resound are the sad sounds of small sobs, smothered by a hand that wishes for the world to not hear sounds of such suffering.

* * *

Maggie feels useless.

She doesn't know what to do, how to go about doing it, and why she should even bother.

Even if she wanted to move, wanted to make herself respond, wanted to mourn, she can't find the strength to; there is no moving, no responding, no mourning, only crying. She feels useless, completely and utterly so, for being so cowardly that she simply refuses to respond in any other way than sobbing.

She tries to smother her sobs, tries to keep them silent, because she refuses to accept the reason for why the tears continue to trickle down; she swallows the sounds back and wipes harshly at the tears.

As her hands brush roughly against her cheeks, remnants of blood are left upon the pale skin there but she doesn't care; because the blood stains her hands, it always has, always will, so it doesn't bother her that it marks the pale skin of her face not when it has marked her hands for years.

Once Forrest finds out, he will look upon her and he will see it; he will see the blood on her, the blood that she convinced herself that she needn't wash off, the blood that she will now scrub at until her skin reddens, bruises, bleeds, because she wants to be clean again, good, she needs to be.

Maggie feels worthless.

What is she worth now, now that she has lied heedlessly and recklessly? She has lied to the only man who she has ever truly loved, the only man who will ever love her, and for what? She will lose them all; Forrest, Howard and Jack.

And, once again, she questions herself, for what? She lied, and for what? What did she achieve? What did she succeed in doing? What was the point of it all? She believes that nothing will ever make up for such a betrayal.

Her lies caused more hurt than good, but isn't that always so?

One may lie in the name of protecting another, but once the lie leaves the lips there is no protecting another from it; a lie is ruthless, detrimental in nature, and irretrievable. Some may believe that a lie brings about peace, brings about a calm, but isn't that always temporary?

Others may believe that to lie to protect one you care about is justifiable, and not quite the same as a lie spoken with the intent of causing damage and inflicting pain, but ultimately they are all each exactly alike in the end; they are all lies, falsehoods, fabrications.

Maggie feels unworthy.

She feels unworthy of Forrest, of all that he is, all that he gives unknowingly, and all that he says without words. She feels most unworthy of the silent compassion for Maggie that Forrest always carries with him, the compassion that is conveyed with looks rather than words, and the devotion that she sees in his grey eyes where all others see there is death.

Maggie feels unworthy of his love, a love that need not be exhibited for all to see and need not be proven, for Maggie to know that it exists; it does not need to be spoken of to be confirmed.

Then, there is Howard; with his unwavering dedication.

Howard, with his heavy heart, which is always weighed down upon by guilt and unchangeable events, has only ever tried to help Maggie; but she was blind, she was unwilling to listen, unwilling to see, unwilling to take notice of what it was that he was trying to show her, what was right there all along, and now it is much too late to repair what could have easily been fixed.

Maggie forced Howard to lie to Forrest, on both of their behalf's, and she should have never done so; but she did, and there is not a single thing that Maggie can do to change that, to fix that, to atone for that.

Howard will undoubtedly blame himself, his actions, his hesitance, his assistance, his part in all of this, and he will blame his own faults for this terrible tragedy that has befallen them all. Maggie wonders how she can help Howard, when she can't even help herself.

And then there is Jack.

Jack, who is sweet and kind and young, has never looked upon Maggie with anything but fondness; a fondness that lets Maggie know that he too sees her as family, accepts her as family, but that will all change once he knows. He will look at her sadly, angrily, and with confusion; he won't be able to comprehend her actions, understand her reasons, or forgive her apologies.

Maggie doesn't wish to imagine how Forrest will look upon her once he finds out the truth.

Forrest, who says so little with words but so much with small touches, gestures, looks, will look upon her without love. He will be mostly unreadable, as he mostly is, aside from the tiniest flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Behind that disappointment, there will be hurt, confusion, and rage. Forrest will never voice these emotions, he has never has been one to do so, and Maggie won't blame him if he wishes to never voice another word to her again.

Maggie is so enrapt with her thoughts, her fears, her sorrows, that she doesn't hear the sound of the door slowly creaking open, and she definitely doesn't see the look of despair in Jack's eye as he looks upon her; he looks upon her, sees the blood, and the broken mess that is Maggie, on the bathroom floor.

"Maggie?" asks the small voice, but Maggie doesn't hear it; not over her thoughts, not over her regrets.

Maggie is transfixed again; she is horrified, captivated, mortified.

She moves her hands slowly and examines it, as though it isn't her own, as though she is in a dream, a daze, a nightmare, and then she is mortified once more.

Maggie moves with haste, hands trembling only slightly as she drops them and attempts to wipe away the blood, wipe it off of her hands and onto her clothes instead; but the blood doesn't fade, doesn't disappear, not for Maggie.

And then the voice that spoke before makes a small sound, a squeak, which catches Maggie's attention.

Maggie manages to drag her eyes away from the blood, from the death, from the despair, and up to Jack; except it isn't Jack who stands at the bathroom door anymore, it isn't who she thought it would be, instead it's Jimmy.

Jimmy, with his golden curls, which are tinted orange, and eyes the colour of opals, stands at the bathroom door with a mischievous smile that Maggie has missed; he half hides behind the door, half leans against it, and Maggie wants him to join her.

Maggie has missed Jimmy dearly.

"Jimmy." she calls his name, her voice is hoarse.

And he moves almost immediately, with a cheeky little smile still set in place as he steps out from behind the shadows and steps forward slowly into the light; the wait is agonizing for Maggie, who only wishes to hold him again, keep him warm, safe, loved, and keep him always with her.

Maggie outstretches a hand to Jimmy, who remains still and simply watches Maggie; Maggie is perplexed, she doesn't understand his hesitance, his reluctance, his cautiousness.

"Jimmy?" she asks, her voice is shaky now just like her hands. "Jimmy, is that you?"

"Maggie?" he says her name, and his voice is just as soft, just as sweet, as she remembers.

Maggie beams, a genuine smile spreading across her lips as he says her name, and she didn't even realize that she had been crying until she tastes the salty tears on her lips; she lets the tears fall freely, fall as they may, fall where they please, and she continues to smile as they trickle down her cheeks.

"Oh, Jimmy." Maggie says, she almost sighs with relief.

She outstretches her hand further, and Jimmy takes it, holds onto it, pays no notice to the blood on her hands, some of which is his, and she loves him even more for loving her. He loves her, even with all of her imperfections, all of her flaws, all of her scars, and she admires him for it.

* * *

Howard steps away from Blackwater Station and over towards the nearest vehicle without a second thought, without sparing a glance back over his shoulder, without sparing a moment to think, to react, to feel.

He has never thought much on the myth of immortality that surrounds the Bondurant name, the myth that spread around Franklin County like wildfire, but now, when he does think on it, after a drink or two, or after a death, he always finds that he sees it differently than what Jack and Forrest do.

Howard doesn't believe that they are immortal, because Death may have not touched them just yet but it will claim them each one day, but he does, at times, wonder about this so called curse. Howard doesn't see it as a curse of immortality, he sees it rather as a curse of death, mortality, fatality, and he sees that Death taunts them and is intent on taking away all of those surrounding the Bondurant brothers and only sparing the brothers themselves. They are not cursed with immortality, but they are cursed with life, for now, while all those surrounding them have had that life stripped from them.

Death hasn't taken Maggie Beauford away from the Bondurant's, but it could have.

When those monsters of men returned that night, with the intention of killing Forrest, and they committed those unmentionable and condemnable acts against Maggie, Maggie could have very well have had that same blade pressed against her throat too.

When she was first ill, she could have perished, the Doctor told Howard as much, but she didn't. And after she took that terrible tumble down the stairs, but was fortunate enough to survive relatively unharmed, she could have suffered an awful fate but she was spared.

As Howard starts up the car, he forces himself to move with haste and not with hesitance.

He wonders if the reason that death has spared Maggie Beauford once again is because she is, and has been for some time now, part of the Bondurant family. In Howard's eyes, Maggie is family, Maggie is a Bondurant; and perhaps _that_ is why Death taunts Maggie, takes away from her what cannot be replaced, and then leaves her be for the meantime.

But what Howard can't make sense of is why Death would take away Forrest and Maggie's unborn baby when it is Bondurant too? The baby was a Bondurant – perhaps not by blood, but by bond – and they would have been born a Bondurant, raised a Bondurant, lived as a Bondurant and died at an old age as a Bondurant.

Forrest was the father, he would have acted accordingly, appropriately, and Howard has absolutely no doubt in his mind that Forrest wouldn't have left, he wouldn't have asked Maggie to leave, he would have stayed and raised that baby, with Maggie, as their own.

Howard barely takes notice of his movements, he is too busy with his thoughts, preoccupied, distracted, verging on distraught. He is simply going through the motions, he isn't thinking properly or seeing straight, but he continues forward nonetheless.

The sound of Maggie's sobs echoing in Howard's ears will not cause him to halt, the image of Maggie broken and bleeding, that has become branded into his mind, will not cause him to break or bend, he will continue forward until he finds a solution, an answer, a prayer, an alternative outcome; but since all of the aforementioned options are unavailable, Howard will press forward until he finds the Doctor, finds help, assistance, reassurance, and he will bring that salvation back to Maggie at Blackwater Station.

* * *

The amount of time between Howard's departure and Doctor John's arrival is immeasurable.

For Jack, it feels like hours. For Howard, it feels like days, even if he is driving hastily and recklessly to reach Blackwater Station. But for Maggie, it feels like years; years of sorrow and solitude that are softened by the presence of her sweet Jimmy.

Hurried footsteps downstairs, below in the bar, alert Jack of Howard's return; meanwhile Maggie is still transfixed by the sight of the gorgeous and golden haired boy before her, who still watches her fondly, sweetly, credulously, as he always did.

The creaking sound of footsteps on the stairs is what brings Maggie back to the present; she snaps out of her state of sweet denial, wrenches her hand out of Jimmy's, and frets over who it could possibly be climbing the staircase

"Forrest?" Maggie calls out, and she sounds every bit as apprehensive as she looks.

Maggie struggles to stand, but she does eventually; her legs shake slightly as she stands on her unsteady feet, and she fights the urge to sway backwards as she feels as every bit as lightheaded as she did when she first fell ill with worry and stress.

The footsteps are nearing, and Maggie is all but cowering behind the bathroom door.

She is ashamed, embarrassed, regretful, remorseful, disgusted, and she doesn't wish for Forrest to see her in such a state of emotional distress; she doesn't wish for Forrest to see the lies, the blood, or the Maggie that Maggie has become.

Howard emerges into view, and Jack, who has appeared seemingly out of nowhere, takes a staggering step backwards as Howard steps past him with another figure in tow. Jack is wide eyed and horrified, while Maggie mirrors that same horror at the sight of the shadowed figure that is moving towards her.

"Doctor John." Howard announces, and steps to the side to allow the Doctor, who had tended to Maggie when she had first fallen ill, to step past Howard and into the bloodstained bathroom with his bag gripped firmly in his right hand.

He smiles at Maggie sadly, with pity and commiserations, but Maggie doesn't require his condolences.

Doctor John steps forward slowly, warily, cautiously, his hair is cropped black and peppered with grey, just like Maggie remembers, and his dark moustache twitches slightly as his mouth forms into a small and warm, yet pitiful, smile.

* * *

Howard steps out of the bathroom and into the hallway, he shuts the door softly behind him, careful to not make much noise, and he immediately seeks out Jack. Jack is back where he was when this all began to unravel, when it all began to fall apart, when it all began to break, when it all went to hell; by Maggie and Forrest's bedroom door.

There is no unseeing this, there is no forgetting such a tragedy, no sweeping it under the rugs, and Howard is only grateful for the fact that Jack never knew, and never has to know, what horrible things happened to Maggie on the night that Forrest had his throat cut.

Jack wouldn't be able to carry on, knowing that there were humans out there capable of such evil. Jack wouldn't be able to function, wouldn't be able to handle it, he wouldn't be able to do a damn thing without feeling sickened and regretful simultaneously; regretful that he wasn't there, and he'd blame himself, just how Howard blames himself, just how Forrest blames Howard but also blames himself, and he wouldn't be able to live with that burden on his shoulders.

Even though it wasn't Jack's fault, even though it wasn't Forrest's fault, and even though it wasn't Howard's fault, despite how much he blames himself, despite how much he drinks and tears himself up about it, it was those monsters fault; there is no fixing evil like that, and if it hadn't of happened that night there is no doubt in Howard's mind that they would have unfortunately returned.

The only way to get rid of evil like that is to do exactly that; get rid of it.

There is no reasoning with evil like that, no fixing, no sympathizing either, and the only way to rid the world of such monsters is to take matters like that into your own two hands and do what needs to be done.

Killing those men wasn't simply a matter of revenge, although that was the main motivator behind it, but it was a matter of prevention; Howard and Forrest wanted to ensure that such heinous acts, of what those men did to Maggie and to Forrest, would never be repeated.

"Jack?" Howard whispers.

He tries to get Jack's attention, tries to bring him back to this reality, regardless of how unpleasant it is, but Jack doesn't respond. And when Jack doesn't respond, Howard doesn't try to retrieve him; because everyone grieves differently.

* * *

Doctor John steps out of the bathroom sometime later with a solemn expression on his face. Howard has lost track of how long it has been, and Jack hasn't even noticed that time has passed until the kindly Doctor is approaching Howard and asking if the two of them may have a quiet word.

Howard nods in agreement, but otherwise remains silent in respect for the loss of such an innocent life; he almost feels guilty that he is still entitled to keep on living while that innocent baby was never given the chance of life.

"How is she?" Howard asks grimly.

"Physically, she's healthy, all things aside. Mentally, she's fragile." The Doctor says solemnly, before he continues softly; and Howard just _knows_ what the Doctor's next words will be, "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Howard."

Howard has seen a similar sight before, and when he saw it again this morning he just _knew_. There was a sharp twist in his stomach, and his heart fell at the sight; because he just knew. He wished that he didn't know, and that he was wrong, but he deep down he knew that he wasn't mistaken.

"Miss Beauford lost the baby." Doctor John states, and Howard's heart sinks; because despite knowing what had happened when he had stumbled across Maggie and Jack upstairs, the Doctor's confirmation still stings. "There was nothin' I could to do stop it, and there was nothin' that she could do to prevent it. These things just happen."

And that, those words, that casualness towards the entire situations, sparks ire within Howard.

_'These things just happen'_

Howard draws in a deep breathe, and something in his expression must alert the Doctor of Howard's anger as he quickly attempts to change his words, to fix them, to mend them, but Howard can only hear the sound of Maggie's sobs from earlier.

"Howard." The Doctor starts to say, he isn't necessarily intimidated by the eldest Bondurant brother but he is relatively cautious of Howard's temper, as any reasonable man from Franklin County would be. "These things really do just happen. They are unfortunate and tragic, but there is sadly no such way of knowin' if such a tragedy is goin' to occur."

Howard releases the deep breathe he drew in, and asks a question, a question that has been bugging him, a question that is really none of his business, but a question that he needs the answer to nonetheless. "Why?"

"Why?" The Doctor frowns. "Howard, medical technology is not nearly advanced enough to-"

"Why do they happen?" Howard cuts across the Doctor abruptly, he needs to know whether he could be to blame for the loss of an innocent and unlived life.

"There are a number of theories, Howard." Doctor John tells Howard, but that won't do.

"I ain't askin' for a theory, doc." Howard says sternly. "I'm askin' for a reason."

"They can happen for any number of reasons."

"Give me one."

"Strain or stress can increase the chances, but there is no way of determinin' the exact cause." Doctor John explains to Howard, and he continues on regardless of Howard's silence. "They can happen for a number of reasons, Howard, there ain't no way to determine just why it did happen."

Howard has heard all that he needs to hear, Doctor John is merely background noise.

After a period of prolonged and painful silence, on Howard's behalf, the Doctor asks a question that forces Howard to fight the urge to shudder, "Is there somethin' that we can…put the baby in?"

* * *

Doctor John departs, with words of sadness and sympathies that Maggie doesn't wish to hear, with small and empathetic smiles that Howard doesn't wish to see, and with him he takes the only source of sound to be heard inside of Blackwater Station.

Howard sent Jack to his room. He was going to send him downstairs, to fetch a few items for the Doctor, but he didn't have it in him to make Jack retrieve the items that they were going to use for the burial of the baby; Howard wouldn't be able to bear that look in Jack's eyes, the look he would have when he would realize what the items were to be used for, he didn't want Jack to have to deal with that, to have to get further involved in all of this.

He told Jack softly to go to his room, and Jack abided without a word of protest and without any sort of procrastination, which was unnervingly not like Jack at all, and then Howard had turned towards the bathroom door and wondered about just what he was supposed to do now.

The Doctor had told Howard softly that Maggie was bathing, he'd asked if Howard could retrieve a change of clean clothes for her, so Howard had grabbed the first articles of clothing within sight and returned, and then he had told Howard that Maggie was going to be just fine; the way that the Doctor said the words made Howard feel as though the Doctor thought Howard should be ecstatic over such news, but he was anything but joyful.

It had started to rain then, after the Doctor took his leave, and despite the sun that still shone ignorantly outside the rain lashed down violently, relentlessly, unforgivingly, upon Blackwater Station. Dark clouds began to roll in, arriving in masses, but the sun still shone defiantly behind the grey; splinters of sunlight slipped through, but they fell upon all of Franklin County with the exception of Blackwater Station.

There is no light here.

* * *

Maggie stays in the bathtub for an immeasurable amount of time.

She simply sits there, her knees tucked up to her chest, hair soaking wet, dripping, stuck to her face in places, and she stays there without moving; she faintly wonders how she can continue on existing with the blood on her hands and the unbearable burden of this loss on her shoulders.

Maggie stares off, her eyes wide but blank, and she ceases to think after that point.

She draws her eyes away from the space of which she stares off into, and she allows her head to hang in shame; her head rests against her knees, her chin brushes against the bare skin of her chest as she tucks her legs up closer. She is curled up in the bath, just how she was in their bed, and she doesn't ever wish to leave here.

Maggie gets out of the tub eventually; somehow she musters the strength to leave and to dress herself.

She does each of these things slowly, in a daze, and then she steps outside into the hallway and finds that she has halted almost immediately; where is she to go now? Where is she to sleep? She can only wonder what a restless, haunted sleep she would be destined to endure should she return to their bedroom. Maggie wonders if it is even their bedroom now, since she has betrayed Forrest in a most unimaginable and most unforgiveable way, and she decides that it most likely isn't.

He won't ask her to leave, because he isn't that type of man, he wouldn't send her away in a fit of anger, for he would feel pity for her and what it is she has endured, but he won't ask her to stay either, because while he pities her he no longer sees in her the Maggie who he once loved.

* * *

Howard didn't sleep.

He dragged himself downstairs, after hours of waiting outside of the bathroom door, waiting for Maggie, and he immersed himself in stump whiskey and spared not a thought for himself, and how such a sorrowful sight and a sorrowful loss pained him, and he only thought thoughts of regret and remorse and sympathy for Maggie and Forrest.

This regret was different, this guilt was like no other he had experienced before, and he knew that this would stick with him for life, it branded him, burned into him, and he knew that he would carry this guilt to the grave.

Howard blamed himself.

He blamed his own faults, flaws, failures. Howard didn't blame Maggie. He blamed his inability to take responsibility, to be responsible, to be reliable, for all that had unraveled. Howard was the one who failed Forrest, and he inevitably was the one who failed Maggie. He would never forgive himself for this. Howard can barely live with himself, not after all that he has done to wrong his family.

* * *

Jack slept for an hour or so, but no longer than that.

His mind buzzed with thoughts, questions, concerns, and he wasn't able to shut it off; all he could see was Maggie, bloodstained and broken, and all he could hear were her sobs, sorrowful and pained. Howard had tried to soothe Jack in his own way, with quiet words and soft eyes, but nothing could soothe this raw pain that Jack felt inside of him.

Jack couldn't even begin to wonder what it was like to be Maggie right now, he couldn't imagine what sort of sorrow she must be experiencing, he couldn't even picture how much pain she must be in.

Maggie, who was always so strong, always so sweet, always so caring, had been devoid of light and life when Jack found her. Her eyes were fixated on the blood, and so were Jack's. When Maggie had looked upon him finally, he saw that the spark, that vitality that she always had about her, was gone. Just like that, Maggie was gone and replaced by this blank and bleeding stranger.

And then there was Howard. Howard, who had stayed strong for the both of them, was more likely than not drinking himself blind in the bar downstairs. Jack wanted to stop him, but he didn't; because that was how Howard tried to grieve, he had always coped that way, and Jack wasn't about to try to stop Howard from trying to heal himself.

* * *

The funeral commences at midday.

Maggie stands slowly, changes clothing, and walks downstairs without sparing a glance towards Forrest's room.

Howard and Jack are seated downstairs, waiting, they have been for hours, and they assumed that she would wish for distance from the both of them so Howard didn't sit outside her door and Jack didn't stray near that side of the Station. Jack all but jumps at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, he spins around in his seat to face Maggie, who keeps her eyes focused on the floorboards, while Howard continues to stare solemnly at the box at the end of the bar.

Maggie looks broken, lost, exhausted; there are dark lines underneath her eyes, and no light within them, no spark, no life, just blankness, dullness, lifelessness, that is more than unsettling to see in a woman who was once so full of life and love and light.

When Maggie Beauford arrived at Blackwater Station, she brought with her light, love and light; three things that the three Bondurant brother's had forgotten to exist.

She brought love with her, it was evident in everything that she did; the meals she would make, the chores she would do, and the way that she would look upon each of them with a fondness instead of with revulsion or fear. Forrest had thought that he was incapable of love, and that he would never encounter another who would feel anything remotely close to love towards him; but then he found Maggie.

She brought light with her, it was in her eyes the very second that Forrest looked upon her; and this light was evident in all that she did, all that she was, it was always there in her words and her voice. She would dance and laugh and smile like no one that the Bondurant brothers' had ever seen before, and she brought this light with her wherever it was she went.

And she brought life with her. Blackwater Station reeked of death and despair, and Maggie brought life with her and she touched each of the brothers' in her own way; she would never know of how much she had changed them, helped them, healed them, fixed them, simply by being who she was.

Maggie walks outside without a word, and Howard and Jack trail her footsteps slowly.

Howard holds the box in his calloused hands, and Jack can't seem to drag his eyes away from the box; knowing what is in side of it haunts Jack, sends chills down his spine, and he can't seem to drag his eyes away from what would have been a member of the family.

Jack and Howard reach Maggie, they stay in step with her, keeping a similar pace, and they walk, both on either side of her, up near the back of the station, towards the edge of the forest. They walk in silence, and although they may walk in step, in time, they are completely out of sync with one another; they are not interacting like they used to, there are no words shared, no looks exchanged, and they continue to march forward until they reach the tiny hole that Howard had dug up last night.

Jack had watched, from a window upstairs in the Station, as Howard dug at the bare earth with a shovel, despite the rain that lashed out upon him, and then he stood there solemnly; eyes shut down, mind shut off, and then he threw the shovel down at the earth in a fit of anger, inexpressible frustration bubbling and bursting, before he stalked off inside and drank some more stump whiskey.

Howard draws in a deep breath, which does nothing to alleviate a thing; it does nothing to settle his nerves, settle his worries, his hatred, his rage, and he curses himself just for the sake of cursing himself. He deserves to be cursed, not Maggie; not sweet, kind, innocent Maggie.

There is no light here, only a silence and darkness that only death can bring.

This darkness, this insufferable sorrow, swept over the occupants of Blackwater Station without a word of warning.

Howard and Jack stand solemnly before the grave, both have removed their hats, Howard holds his in the hand that doesn't grip the box of the innocent baby that would have been his niece or nephew, while Maggie stares down upon it with a frighteningly blank expression.

But then the sorrow hits.

Maggie's face contorts, and she looks upon the earth with such great sadness that Howard has to fight the urge to take her in his arms and protect his family. Maggie doesn't like that, Howard has noticed, unannounced touches; even when Howard's hand brushed against hers one morning, when he was reaching for his mug the exact same moment she reached for it to refill it, she ripped her hand away immediately before apologizing profusely.

Howard hates what those men have done to his family.

Maggie turns towards Howard, she purposely keeps her eyes low and away from his, and she accepts the box with trembling hands. She kneels down onto the bare earth; her arms shake as she runs a finger along the edge of the box before she leans forward and lowers it in. For a moment, she doesn't release her hold; and Howard starts to worry that she never will, but then she releases her tight grip and stands.

Of all the bodies that he has had to bury, Howard never thought that he would have to bury a baby.

They don't leave immediately, they stay where they are, the silence gnawing away at each of them, before Maggie reaches for the shovel, it is still where Howard left it, and starts to pile the dirt on top of the box. Maggie is still weak, and the Doctor warned Howard that while she is well she still should not indulge in any strenuous activity, so Howard steps forward slowly and gently pries the shovel from Maggie's hand.

Once the box is covered, the last of the dirt back where it began, Howard asks Maggie softly if she'd like to say a few words.

Maggie shakes her head, and Howard notices the torn expression on her face, the pain that lurks beneath her once bright eyes that have now turned dull, and he sees that her curls fail to spring to life and bounce around as they used to; they are just as limp and lifeless as Maggie herself.

"I, uh, I ain't no good at this type of thing…" Jack starts to say, and Howard falters; he hadn't expected Jack to say a word, he isn't entirely sure if Jack should say a word, or if that might upset or anger Maggie.

_How is she?_

"I ain't good at-at sayin' goodbye," Jack continues, he can't see the look that Howard is giving him.

_Physically, she's healthy._

"But, I'm gonna give it a go anyway." Jack says, and Howard looks towards Maggie; who is as pale as a ghost and whose eyes are as empty and as lifeless as the dead.

_Mentally, she's fragile._

"You would have been loved….and-and looked after." Jack declares, and Howard swears he sees Maggie flinch at the words, cringe away from them, and he briefly wonders why that is; she ought to know that that's the truth, that the baby would have been loved and well looked after, but she doesn't look convinced – as a matter of fact, she doesn't look like anything at all; she is blank, frighteningly so, and Howard is worried for her state of mind.

Maggie doesn't appear as though she is hearing, breathing, or living, and Howard can't drag his eyes away from her features which quickly turn distraught and distressed upon hearing Jack's words.

"I know I ain't real good at this." Jack says, again, and smiles a small and self-depreciating smile. "I ain't ever been real good at sayin' goodbye, but-"

Maggie cuts across Jack angrily, she almost sounds weary as she says, with tears brimming in her eyes, "There ain't nothin' to say goodbye to, Jack."

_Mentally, she's fragile._

* * *

**A/N: **I'm back!

Thank you all, for waiting patiently, and thank you to those who showed concern.

I am aware that I didn't include much of reaction from Maggie, but she is still in shock, but it will come eventually. Also, I didn't include what happened after Howard left the Doctor with Maggie, but I did that purposely, it will be included in a later chapter.

Forrest makes his big return next chapter! Dun dun. All will be revealed. Or will it? Angst ensues. Or does it?

I'd like to thank each and every one of you who takes the time to read this, and I'd like to say an even bigger thanks to those who review and let me know their thoughts. You guys make me smile! So, thanks for that.

And, to my amazing sister, thanks for being amazing.

Thank you for reading! My thoughts and prayers are with you all in the US.

**X  
**


	11. Walls Of Dreaming Torn Wide Open

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy.

Howard sits at the bar in silence, toying with the unscrewed lid from a jar of stump whiskey, and he considers whether or not he should take a sip now or save it for later, once he has brought Forrest back from the hospital and to their house which is haunted by the horrible loss of a child who was never born.

Howard can hear Jack's footsteps on the stairs, but he says nothing; no words are shared between the brothers, no glances exchanged, and no concerns are voiced as he patiently, and somewhat anxiously, awaits Maggie's arrival.

The sun has yet to completely emerge from behind the masses of grey clouds that hover above, but Howard doesn't expect that Maggie would still be asleep at the current moment. He doubts that she would have slept well or long – he would be surprised if she even slept at all – after a day of such disastrous turmoil.

"Forrest was the father." Jack declares, and surprises Howard.

He sits down on a stool beside the eldest Bondurant brother, and repeats the words a second time, as though Howard mightn't of heard him right the first time, and Howard is surprised because he hadn't expected Jack to say a word; he was traumatized yesterday, and for good reason, and Howard hadn't expected to hear a sound out of the boy

Howard knows that he ought to say something to Jack, something that will soothe his soul and ease his guilt, but each time he opens his mouth to speak, to explain, to comfort, he fails and he falls quiet.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, Howard simply nods in response; because, as far as Jack is concerned, Forrest was the father. Jack needn't know about _that_ night, about what heinous crimes were committed against Maggie when Forrest was lying outside in a pool of his own blood, and he doesn't need to get himself further involved in this messy web of dishonesty and betrayal that Howard and Maggie have become entangled in.

"What are we goin' to tell him?" Jack questions, and Howard would be mortified if he wasn't feeling so damn tired and weighed down by his guilt

Howard doesn't want to start lying to Jack, and he doesn't want to keep on lying to Forrest, so he tells Jack exactly what's going to happen and just why it's got to be that way, "_We _ain't goin' to tell him nothin'." he says sternly, because it's not his place, nor is it Jack's, to deliver such devastating news.

While they may be his brothers, Maggie is something else to Forrest – Howard isn't entirely sure what she is to Forrest, but he is sure that they mean something to each other, they mean more to each other than they'll ever let on, and Howard doesn't want to further involve himself in their business – Maggie is Forrest's, just as much as Forrest is Maggie's, and Jack and Howard have no place in their business.

"This ain't our business, Jack." Howard warns, because he knows what Jack is like, with his big mouth and his naïve sense of what's right and what's wrong; it isn't that black and white, it isn't that easy to distinguish between the right thing to do and what has to be done, there is a grey area in between that Jack fails to see.

"This ain't our business?" Jack echoes the question, with something like disbelief in his voice.

Howard confirms this with a nod, and this seems to frustrate the youngest Bondurant brother who bursts out, in an angry declaration, that, "Maggie's family, Howard, and that makes her our business."

"Maggie's family, but that still don't make her business ours." Howard says, his eyes are fixed on the unscrewed lid, which he rolls back and forth across the countertop of the bar, and he contemplates taking a deep drink right now, while Jack is rethinking his argument, but then Jack speaks again and his words cause Howard to halt, in both his thoughts and in his movements.

"But we woulda been Uncle's, Howard." Jack states. "And Forrest, he woulda been a father. Can you imagine that, Howard? You woulda been Uncle Howard."

Howard's jaw clenches, and he looks down at the jar of clear liquid before him; he takes a deep, long sip and he breathes a heavy sigh of relief as he places the jar back down on the bar. It's half empty now, and Jack watches him expectantly, and with wide eyes, so Howard says, more sharply than he had intended, "What you want me to say, Jack?"

"Don't that mean somethin' to you?" Jack asks, and that, for some unknown reason, angers Howard greatly. "Don't it mean anythin'?" he questions, a second time, and Howard feels the restraints on his temper slipping.

"Course' it does, Jack." Howard says, through partially gritted teeth. "Don't be daft." he warns, his words are harsh and his voice is rough, and Jack reluctantly nods in silent agreement as he stands from the barstool.

* * *

Forrest has quickly grown impatient in the confinements of these four white walls, with naught but a window on a faraway wall, that looks down upon a desolate and seemingly abandoned town. He has grown restless, and he longs to return to Blackwater Station where he is free to roam where he wishes; there are no cages like this back at the Station, there are only faces that he has long been missing and a space in a bed that he has long wished to fill.

When he wakes, he is, once again, disappointed to find that he still remains in the hospital. He props himself up in bed slowly, his body continues to ache but that pain has lessened since he was declared bedridden and told to rest up or otherwise he would only prolong his visit.

Forrest had dreamt of Maggie, dreamt that she was in the bed beside him, dreamt that he could hear her sweet voice whispering in his ear, but when he awakes that illusion shatters and he is disappointed once more.

While he is a man of silence, he enjoys it and prefers it, this solitude and silence is almost suffocating; it is beginning to be too much, and he longs for the silence that is provided at Blackwater Station, the silence that is accompanied by the small and sweet words of Maggie Beauford.

Maggie Beauford, the woman unlike any other, the woman with a brave heart, the woman with a resilience that Forrest thought he wouldn't find in a woman, and the woman that he wished to be his wife; but then, she had left abruptly and left all of his questions unanswered. But that wasn't what had left him puzzled, that wasn't what had left him feeling uneasy, it was all else that she left unanswered, it was the tears that spilled from her eyes, it was the horror in her eyes that he had thought long gone.

To say that he was simply concerned about her would be an understatement, for what he feels now goes past the point of mere concern. Forrest is to return home today, he is to return back to his family, to his land, but something tells him that things aren't going to return to the way that they once were.

* * *

Howard creeps upstairs slowly, silently, and he stops frequently as he wonders whether or not he should be doing this. He thought he heard the sound of Maggie's heels on the staircase – the sound sparked a tiny flicker of light in both of the brothers, Jack who sat solemn and by himself at a table and Howard who drowned his sorrows in a jar of whiskey at the bar, and it temporarily brought them back to reality – and he had straightened up, spun around from his stool and stood, as Jack had done as he stood abruptly from his chair, as they turned to face Maggie.

But it wasn't Maggie.

Maggie hadn't emerged from the confinements of her and Forrest's bedroom, and Howard was starting to find it highly unlikely that she would; he felt guilty, remorseful, regretful, and he could not even begin to imagine what she was feeling. She would be consumed by her guilt, there was no question about that, and Howard hadn't the slightest idea how to start fixing her in time for Forrest's arrival.

Howard knocks on the bedroom door twice, softly but loud enough that she should be able to hear him, but he is only met with silence. "Maggie?" he calls out, his voice his rough, so he clears it twice before he asks for her, again, louder this time, "Maggie?"

He is met with silence once more, and he starts to fret for her.

He steps inside, and sees that a veil of darkness has fallen upon Forrest's bedroom.

Maggie is curled up underneath the sheets, her tiny frame is still and not shaking with sobs, and Howard struggles to see whether she is awake or not. He steps forward slowly, cautiously, fearful that he may frighten her, and he calls out again, this time in a softer voice, "Maggie?"

As he approaches her, as he comes closer to her bedside, he sees that her tiny frame is not shaking with sobs but her chest is not heaving in and out with small breathes either.

"Maggie?!" he panics, and lunges forward, his strides twice the size as usual, and just as he reaches her bedside she sparks back up to life.

She gasps, as though she was holding her breath, and sits up immediately; she backs away from Howard, until her back hits the wall behind her, and she tugs the sheets up with her to cover her body. As she brushes stray locks from the fair skin of her face, her chest heaves heavily as she draws in deep breaths, as though she has been deprived of air, and she fails to acknowledge Howard's presence just yet.

"What the hel-" Howard starts to say, but she puts a hand out, gesturing for him to wait or to stop speaking, and she speaks across him quickly, her words rush together, almost as though she is frightened she mightn't get them out in time

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for scarin' you, Howard." Maggie apologizes, and drops her hand back down to her side.

"What the hell were you doin'?" he questions, and despite trying to keep his voice level he can't help but allow for some of the anger that he feels, the anger that sparks up in him, from seeping out and into his words.

"I thought that-that if I was real quiet, you wouldn't bother me."

"Oh!" Howard says and sighs, as though he has had some sort of revelation and he completely understands now, "You thought that…if it looked like you wasn't breathin', that I wouldn't bother you?" he asks, rather sharply, and with a harshness that he never thought he'd use when speaking to Maggie.

"No. No, I-I…" Maggie stammers, and shakes her head profusely.

She rises from where she was cowering, and begins to pace; her arms are wrapped around her body, as though she is protecting herself, as though she is hiding herself, and Howard can't see that now because all he can see is red; the thought of losing Maggie angers him, because she is family and he's already lost enough, he doesn't know how much more he can lose.

Howard continues, regardless of Maggie's stuttering and stammering, "What the hell are you doin' holdin' your damn breath for?" he asks, and he knows that he shouldn't be so angry but he is.

"I-I thought that—I'm sorry, Howard." she stammers, and his anger softens, as do his words, at the sight of her sobbing; and it's all because of his words, his anger, his harshness. "I'm sorry, Howard. I'm so sorry." she keeps chanting the words, and Howard wants to tell her that she hasn't got a thing to be sorry for, that everyone makes mistakes, but he knows that's not what she needs to hear, what she has to hear.

He doesn't tell her that she hasn't got anything to be sorry for, because they both do. He doesn't tell her that it's ok, when it's clear to the both of them that it's the furthest from ok right now, and he doesn't promise her that everything is going to be ok, because he can't make that promise, he can't pretend to know that, he can't swear that things are going to go back to the way that they were before this hell was unleashed upon them.

"Come here, Maggie." Howard says, and she shakes her head. "I ain't goin anywhere," he tells her, and _that_ is his promise, that is the one certainty in all of this uncertainty, and he tells her again, just to reinforce his point, "I ain't leavin' you. I ain't goin' nowhere." he promises, and she continues to shake her head.

"But they all do, Howard, they always do." Maggie says and he steps forward to stop her pacing, to place a hand on both of her shoulders and calm her, but she jumps back before he can; he takes two steps forward, and she takes three back. "I'm-I'm sorry." she says, and she looks horrified; horrified by what, Howard can't be sure.

"What for?" he asks, even though he gets the feeling he shouldn't be.

"For jumpin' like that," she says, and she doesn't need to further explain herself; he understands why she'd be tense for, why she'd be on edge, why she'd start jumping at shadows, "I don't know why I do it. I know you ain't going to hurt me, but I-I can't help it. I'm sorry, Howard, for everythin'. I don't know why I do what I do. Why I did this. I couldn't—I was so afraid that I was gonna lose Forrest. I can't lose him."

Howard can't tell her that she won't lose Forrest, because he doesn't know that she won't. He hopes that she won't, he hopes that Forrest will forgive her, even if he can't forgive Howard, and he hopes that they'll continue to live as they did before. "I know."

"Tell me that I won't lose him, Howard." she pleads, but Howard can't do that.

He swore to himself that he'd never say a false word to his family again, not for the sake of temporary happiness; because that's all a lie can bring, it is only ever temporary, and then the truth will come tearing in and bringing with it all the turmoil that this lie has brought upon their house.

"I can't tell you that." he tells her sadly.

"Tell me I won't lose him, Howard." Maggie begs.

"I can tell you that I ain't goin' anywhere, Maggie, even if Forrest does." Howard says, because she is his family now, she is like a sister he once had, and he won't lose her too.

"See, I told you!" she says, and she turns towards him abruptly. "They all leave in the end, Howard. You will, too.

Her red locks are a mess, her eyes are red, her cheeks damp with tears, and Howard steps forward and wraps his arms around her shoulders before she can step away. She freezes for a moment, but then she collapses, falls slack, into Howard's arms, "What have I done, Howard?" she cries into his plaid shirt, her small hands form fists as she grips at the fabric. "I've got nothin' now, Howard, an' no one. What have I done?"

"You always got a family, with me an' Jack." Howard says, and then he adds, honestly, "I know it ain't much, but-"

"It's enough. It's more than enough, Howard." Maggie says into his shirt, before she pushes herself away, "I ain't deserving of it, though." she adds, and untangles herself from Howard's red shirt, from Howard's hold, and takes a step back and away. "I never was deservin' of any of you. Not as family, not as nothin'."

"You don't mean that."

"No, I do." she disagrees. "I ain't worth this trouble. I never was."

"You're family, Maggie."

"I was, wasn't I?" Maggie asks and smiles sadly, she winces, as though the thought of it hurts, and then she wipes at her cheeks harshly before she says, in the steadiest voice that she can manage, "But I'm not family. Not anymore. Not after what I've done."

"You're still-" Howard starts to say, but she cuts across him.

"I'm not family no more, Howard. I lied to my family. I made you lie. I betrayed my family. An' it just kept gettin' worse. The lies just kept comin' and comin' and now I don't even know what was real. I'm not worthy of family."

"Don't say that."

"I had a chance, I did." Maggie says softly, her voice trembles as she continues, "I had a real chance. A chance for a family, here with Forrest an' with you an' with Jack but I threw that chance away an' there is nothin' that no one can do to get it back." she pauses, and wipes at her tears with trembling hands, "An' there is nothin' for me to do now but leave."

"You don't gotta go, Maggie." Howard tries to explain this to her, but she just won't hear it; her minds made up, and Howard knows that she can be just as stubborn and just as determined as Forrest. "No one's makin' you leave."

"I ain't got a choice, Howard."

"You got the choice to stay, Maggie." Howard declares, and she shakes her head.

"I'm leaving, Howard." she tells him softly. "I should have left long ago."

"An' what about Forrest?" he asks, but Maggie remains silent; she doesn't know what she should say back to that, what she is supposed to say, so she remains silent instead and blinks back the tears rising in her eyes, "You're just gonna leave, an' not even tell him why?"

Maggie's answer is evident in her silence.

Howard nods, before he says seriously, and somewhat solemnly, "Forrest's been shot, stabbed, had his throat cut from ear to ear, an' survived an illness that wiped out most of my family an' shoulda killed him but didn't. He ain't immortal, but he's tougher than anyone I've ever met. He ain't goin' to die easy. But what you're goin' to do, that'll kill him. Sure, he'll keep breathin', same as me an' Jack, but he'll stop livin' if you go leavin' him like that."

Maggie doesn't even try to conceal the sorrow in her eyes, just how she doesn't try to stop the tears that stream relentlessly down her pale cheeks. She believes Howard's words, and, despite the act of betrayal that she continuously committed against Forrest, she knows that Howard is right. Maggie nods, she closes her eyes, keeps the tears for later, and then she tells Howard, in a small voice that, "I'll say my goodbyes when you get back from the hospital."

* * *

Jack stands immediately, as he hears the sound of someone coming down the stairs, and he guesses that those heavy footsteps belong to his brother and not to Maggie, "How's Maggie?" he asks, as soon as Howard comes into sight.

Howard ignores him, and instead keeps walking and pushes himself forward and towards the two front doors of the station. "How is she, Howard?" Jack asks, again, and this time Howard acknowledges him; he nods curtly towards Jack, without actually meeting his eyes, and this is his answer.

He keeps moving to the door, undeterred by Jack and all his questions, that is until the youngest brother steps in front of Howard and blocks his path; Howard could easily shove him aside and keep moving forward, but he doesn't. "What's wrong with her, Howard?" Jack asks, and the fear that he feels for her wellbeing seeps into his voice and swells within his eyes; but Howard is too caught up in his own anger, his own guilt, his own pain, to pay notice to Jack's.

Howard halts, and hisses, "Goddammit, Jack."

And he's too caught up in the heat of the moment, in the rage, to hear the faint sound of footsteps on the staircase behind him.

"What's wrong with her?" Jack presses the question, and Howard sighs loudly.

"What the hell do you think is wrong with her, Jack? She lost a goddamn baby, Jack, that's what's wrong. You actin' like you don't know what it is to lose a life." Howard hisses, and Jack recoils; he takes a single step back, so Howard takes a step forward. "But I spose' that's right, ain't it? You know how it feels to take life, but you ain't know how it feels to lose one, do you?"

And Howard, he was being honest, he was being genuine; he might have been angry, he might have been verging on furious, but he wasn't mad with Jack. Howard was mad with himself, with his failures, he was enrapt with his own frustration, and he was, to a certain extent, unleashing that upon Jack. Sure, Jack had lost loved ones – Cricket Pate and the loss of their family – but he hadn't seen death like Forrest had with the flu, or how Howard had in the war. Life could be easily lost, and Howard hoped that Jack would never have to experience anything like what he and Forrest had to, he hoped that Jack never had to see it up close like how he and Forrest were forced to.

"An' you do?" Jack spits back, and Howard straightens up; Jack pays no notice to his eldest brother's stoic expression, his unreadable eyes, his frozen features, "What? You sit 'round here, actin' like you some war hero, like you seen all there is to be seen, but you're just a drunk."

Howard hits Jack before he can stop himself; he is unable to control himself, control his anger, and the back of his hand connects with Jack's mouth. The hit resounds loudly, but Jack continues anyway, even though he tastes blood, and he spits that blood out at Howard before he declares, "You ain't like Forrest. You ain't a fighter an' you ain't a survivor, you're a coward."

Before Jack can say another word, Howard has him by the throat and is pushing him backwards; Jack's heels drag against the floorboard as Howard lifts him from the ground, and pushes him until he slams him into the wall by the doors.

"Howard!" A voice cries out from behind him, and Howard barely even blinks; he's too swept up in the swelling rage within him. "Howard, stop!" the voice calls out, but Howard doesn't.

He tightens his grip, watches as Jack's face turns a shade darker, and stares the youngest brother down; Jack's eyes are alight with fear, but that isn't what brings Howard back to the present.

A hand on his back is what brings Howard back to the present. He snaps his head around, looking over his shoulder and down at the figure that feebly touched him, and he releases his hold on Jack, ever so slightly, as Maggie speaks to him softly.

"Howard, stop."

Howard turns to look back towards Jack, who is still struggling underneath Howard's iron-like grip, but he still can't seem to release his hold completely.

"Please, Howard." Maggie pleads.

Jack twists and squirms underneath Howard's hold, he twists his body to try to maneuver himself out of the older man's hold, but his efforts are in vain; not only is Howard taller than him, but he is older, stronger, larger, deadlier, and he immediately regrets his words.

He doesn't regret them simply because of the situation that they have landed him in, but because of the obvious pain and anger that they have stirred within Howard, who has been nothing but helpful with Maggie and has been trying to make things better between the two of them ever since Jack got out of the hospital.

"Howard." Jack manages to choke out, and his hands fly up to where his brother's hand is tightly gripping his throat. "Please."

Howard releases his hold completely, he rips his hand away as though Jack's skin is toxic, and he allows for Jack to slide down the wall and fall to the floor breathlessly, before he staggers backwards. He doesn't spare a glance in Maggie's direction, and he staggers out onto the verandah and down the front stairs, towards the direction of the car, before Maggie can spare him another word.

* * *

Maggie doesn't say a word as she kneels down by Jack, and as she reaches towards him to help him up; and when he pushes her hand away, and instead helps himself up by using the wall behind him, she guesses that his pride is more wounded than anything else.

There are specks of blood on his bottom lip, it's swelling slightly, and that blood is starting to slowly trickle down his chin. His face is flushed red, and Maggie doesn't know whether that is from embarrassment or from Howard temporarily cutting off his air.

"Let me help, Jack." Maggie says, but Jack shakes his head.

He stands, as does Maggie, and he appears most unsteady on his two feet. Maggie reaches out, extends her hand towards him for support, but he gently shoves her hand away once again. He takes a step forward, and then staggers a step backwards.

"Jack, let me help." Maggie sighs. "You ain't going nowhere like this."

"I'm alright."

"You don't look alright." she remarks.

Jack blinks hard, his eyes are wide when he reopens them, and Maggie puts an arm around his back before he can further protest. She leads him towards the closest table, assists him in sitting down, before she leaves in search of a wash cloth, a bowl, and some water for Jack.

"Drink this." she demands, and puts the mug of water in his hand. He still seems unsteady, so she helps guide the drink to his lips and then places it back down on the table. Jack isn't severely injured; if anything, he's severely shaken by such an experience.

Maggie dips the edge of the wash cloth in the bowl of water, before she brings both of her hands up to Jack's mouth and gently pulls his bottom lip down to assess the extent of the damage; it's only a cut, and it appears as though the tooth has only cut the skin of Jack's bottom lip and there has been no actual damage done to his teeth.

Jack hisses and starts to pull away, "It ain't bad, Jack, just a scratch." she reassures him, and he seems to relax slightly. He still appears to be shaken, though. So she tries to soothe him by telling him softly, "You know your brother…he didn't mean that, Jack, he didn't mean to do that."

Jack nods, but says nothing; and Maggie is not accustomed to this sort of silence with Jack, not when he is the one who usually fills the silence. "Hold still." she tells him, and she brings the end of the wash cloth up to dab at the cut. "All done." she says, after she's finished cleaning up the blood on his lip.

She rinses the cloth out in the bowl of water, and the way that the blood drains out from the cloth and poisons the purity of the water has her transfixed; Jack takes note of this, and he is just as paralyzed as she is. Except he isn't paralyzed by the poisoning of the water, he is paralyzed by the sight of Maggie; this is the first time that he has looked at her, _really_ looked at her, since she came downstairs and intervened between his and Howard's row.

Her baby blue eyes are red raw from crying and sleep deprivation, her hair is flat and dull and it flops lifelessly as she struggles to pull her eyes away from the bowl – her head is moving slightly, but her eyes remained transfixed on the blood – and there is something missing, in her eyes and in her voice, as she turns back to Jack and says, as steadily as she can, "See, I told you it was just a scratch."

Jack nods in response, and draws his eyes away from Maggie's as she turns to face him completely. He drops his eyes to the floor, and she takes note of the marks that are forming around Jack's throat; hand marks from Howard.

"Oh, Jack." Maggie says sadly, and reaches out to touch the mark on his throat; Jack jerks his head back, and Maggie drops her hand away and down to her side. "Let me look, Jack." she says, and he does, reluctantly, let her, but after some initial delay that can be attributed to his pride and his stubbornness.

Maggie examines the mark, and decides that it will most likely start bruising in a day or two; she tells Jack this, and he simply nods. She takes a seat opposite him, and starts to wring out the cloth, just above the bowl so any droplets that fall will land in the water, "You're stubborn, Jack." she says and shakes her head, "Just like your brothers."

Jack looks up, his eyes are glistening with something but Maggie can't be sure what it is; because the very moment he looks up at her, she looks back down at the bowl and the diluted blood in the water.

"An' just like your baby?" he asks, and Maggie stops moving. "Or just like how your baby woulda been?"

Maggie watches as the blood swirls around in the bowl, slowly but surely fading and, when she replies belatedly, she tells Jack sadly, "That ain't fair, Jack."

"What ain't fair? I'm just askin' a question, Maggie."

"You shouldn't be askin' questions like that, Jack." She warns, and places the cloth down on the table as she stands abruptly. "An' you shouldn't be sayin' things like that to Howard. He ain't a coward, Jack. He ain't a hero of war, 'cause there ain't no heroes in a war like that, but he damn sure is a brave man."

Jack's mouth hangs open as he fumbles for the words to say, the words he should be saying, but instead he falls quiet and Maggie continues on her rant regardless of his silence, "He ain't all that he once was, but neither am I. We all got our ways of dealin' with death, Jack, and drinkin' is as close to coping as Howard's ever going to get."

"I-I didn't mean it, Maggie, I ain't sure why I said it."

"It ain't fair, Jack." Maggie answers, and shakes her head; her voice starts to waver, her eyes tart to water, and Jack rises from his chair almost cautiously. "It ain't fair for you to go 'round disrespecting your brother like that. It ain't fair for you to go 'round asking questions like that."

"I'm real sorry, Maggie." Jack says. "I am."

"No, Jack, I'm sorry." she says, and takes a step back and away from the table; leaving the mug of water, the cloth, and the bowl, where they are. She continues to retreat, her eyes glisten like Jack's had earlier as she says sincerely,"I'm sorry I ever brought you boys into my mess."

"What? Maggie, wait, what're you sayin'?" he questions, as he slowly follows her upstairs.

Jack frowns as he sees her frantically packing her suitcase in Forrest's bedroom.

"I'm leavin', Jack." Maggie tells him, as she starts stuffing clothes in. Everything that she owns is on the mattress, and she keeps shoving it in, not caring for how it goes in so long as it fits.

"Leavin'?" Jack repeats the word, and his frown only deepens. "What? Why? You can't leave, Maggie."

Maggie keeps packing, she doesn't glance over her shoulder at Jack, and she continues to shove articles of clothing and other items into the suitcase, not caring for how they may crumple or whether they properly fit in the bag, "But I can't stay either."

* * *

Forrest sits in the chair by the window; he watches the sky above as he waits.

All he seems to be doing lately is waiting; watching, waiting, willing himself not to get up and walk straight out of the hospital under the veil of the dark of the night and escape back to Blackwater Station.

He's dressed in a green button up shirt, which has stripes and long sleeves, and on top of that he has a light grey cardigan, which is unbuttoned completely. He found a tiny degree of difficulty in dressing, and he was advised to do without his usual vest underneath his cardigan for not only would it be easier to dress and undress, it would be much more practical, considering that the bandages on his chest still need to be checked and changed on a relatively regular basis.

He rests his hat on his right knee, and, when he closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, he swears that he is already back home and out on the porch. His eyes snap open at the sound of faraway footsteps approaching, and he glances down at his hat, picks it up from where it had been resting upon his grey slacks, and he stands.

"Howard." Forrest nods in acknowledgement as he turns towards Howard.

"Forrest." Howard says, and nods back curtly; he seems to be edgier than usual. But it isn't just that, he seems angrier, tetchier, and Forrest notices this with just one glance shared between the two brothers.

Forrest notices this, among other things, about Howard; he notices the red to his eyes, no doubt from countless days of drinking stump whiskey straight from the jar, and he notices the rage, that Howard usually does a good job of suppressing, in the dark pools of the eldest Bondurant brother's usually light eyes.

Forrest remains impassive as he watches Howard, and when Howard says nothing, does nothing, Forrest drops his eyes away and walks slowly towards the hospital bed. He reaches forward for the suitcase, which Maggie had brought to him, and he runs a hand along the handle before he grips it.

Maggie had snuck it in while she thought he was sleeping, she left it by his bedside and she left without a word, but little did she know that he was awake. He heard her, heard her voice as she spoke softly to the nurse, heard her heels on the floor by his bedside, heard her shuffling as she pulled up a chair and sat by his bedside.

She was quiet, but he wasn't sleeping; he was simply resting, and that was an entire thing all together. He needed to rest, the doctors had advised him so, and so he did; he rested his eyes, rested his body, his mind, but he stayed awake and alert.

He often wonders why she didn't wake him, why she didn't wait, why she was distant these days, and he knows that there is more to it than she is letting on, that there are reasons behind the secrecy, the sneaking around, the unnerving silence, and the sudden bout of tears that she had burst into during her last visit to the hospital.

Howard brushes past Forrest and reaches for the suitcase, "No, let me get it." he demands.

"I got it, I got it." Forrest says, and reaffirms his hold on the handle of the suitcase.

Howard shakes his head, and reaches for the suitcase nonetheless. "Let me." he says, but he gains no response, verbal or physical, no sign that Forrest has even heard him, "I said I'd get it, Forrest." he almost growls at Forrest.

"Alright…" Forrest consents quietly, and takes a step back and away from the suitcase.

"That alright?" Howard asks sharply.

Forrest murmurs an 'mmm' in agreement, and turns towards the door to take his leave and escape this cage for once and for all. He can hear Howard's heavy footsteps behind him, his heavy breathing, his heavy eyes on the back of Forrest's head, and Forrest walks slowly, with evenly paced breathes and footsteps, and he wonders what in the hell has Howard so damn weighed down with guilt and worry.

He can see it in the sag of Howard's shoulder as they sit side-by-side in Jack's car, he can see it in his light eyes which have turned a shade darker, duller, he can see it in the way that he is, the way that he sits, the way that he acts around Forrest, that there's a heavy burden on his shoulders that is slowly breaking him.

"You…uh…you alright, Howard?" Forrest asks, as they start driving out of town and start driving towards Blackwater Station.

Howard turns towards Forrest briefly, before turning back to the road with a slight frown, and he nods profusely before he says, as convincingly as he can, "Yea, I'm alright. I'm alright."

Forrest nods, and he wants to accept that answer, wants to believe, but he isn't convinced, he's always been good at knowing when someone else is lying, "Uh…mmm…you're…sure?"

"I'm sure." Howard confirms, but he isn't nearly as convincing.

"There ain't, uh, nothin' you wanna tell me?" Forrest questions, and Howard knows that this is his only chance to come clean. He knows that this will be the only moment he'll get to explain things to Forrest, to say he's sorry, because after Forrest finds it out from Maggie he won't want to hear a single word from Howard.

Howard knows this, but he can't bring himself to form the words; not when they aren't his words to say, they were never his words to begin with, and they will never be his words to share. They are Maggie's. And while Howard isn't going anywhere, and he will accept complete responsibility for his recklessness, Maggie has to be the one who says the words to Forrest.

"Oh…uh…me an' Jack got into a bit of a ruckus." Howard says, and Forrest nods along with his story. "Ain't nothin' bad, but my guess is he's still sookin' over it."

"That all?" he asks, with unwavering eyes.

"That's all." Howard confirms with a steady voice.

As they drive closer towards Blackwater Station, Howard can only hope that Maggie hasn't fled. But as they reach the stretch of road that leads to Blackwater Station, drive up that and pull up at the Station, Howard's heart sinks as he finds Maggie's truck to be nowhere in sight.

_What you're goin' to do, that'll kill him._

He knows that she's gone, for good, and without so much as a word of goodbye or a word of explanation. She left, because that's what she does, she told him as much on one occasion, that she flees when she can, when it gets to be too difficult, when she needs a fresh start, a clean break, and that she's found it difficult to break the habit.

_Sure, he'll keep breathin', same as me an' Jack,_

Forrest opens the car door and steps out without a word, he walks over to where Maggie's truck should be, and he looks down upon the earth with a frown. He doesn't turn towards Howard for an explanation; he just stands there, and looks down upon the bare earth there as though it's a grave.

_But he'll stop livin' if you go leavin' him like that."_

* * *

**A/N: **Hi all!

My apologies for the delay in updating. I won't get into the reasons why, I'll just say that I'll try my hardest to keep the updates more regular from here on in.

Also, I've taken notice of a slight decline in views/reviews/etc, (it doesn't bother me all that much) and I'd just like to thank each of you who are still following this story. It will be worth it, I can promise you that.

Thank you, sis, for your insight and inspiration.

Thank you all for taking the time to read this.

**X**


	12. Felt It In My Fist

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy

Forrest stays where he is, both feet planted on the ground, staring blankly at the bare earth, for an immeasurable amount of time. How long, Howard isn't sure. What he is sure of though is that he's angry – absolutely furious with himself – and he stays in the car for as long as Forrest stands by the bare earth.

When Howard finally moves, he punches the windscreen; but Forrest continues to remain unmoving, unresponsive.

Howard punches with all that he can; he puts all of his inexpressible and unexplainable frustration and anger behind the hit, and he punches it so hard that when his fist connects with the glass it cracks. If he had punched any harder, it would have gone straight through the glass; fragments shatter, splintering themselves into Howard's closed fist, but he barely feels it.

When he pulls his hand back, he doesn't hiss in pain; instead, he curses in anger.

Howard curses loudly, again, curses god and himself and this hell that they live in and, even then, even when he is loudly and freely spitting obscenities, Forrest still can't seem to hear him. He calms down, eventually. He sobers up, he shakes out of his anger, steps out of the car and straightens up; he places a hand on Forrest's shoulder, the hand that isn't bleeding, and he says slowly, "We gotta go inside, Forrest."

Forrest ignores Howard; he ignores his words, ignores the way that Howard is looking down at him with guilt and with pity, and he shakes off Howard's touch roughly before he says, without moving, without turning to face him, "Where's Maggie?"

"You gotta get inside, Forrest, it ain't goin to do—" Howard starts to speak, but Forrest cuts across him abruptly; with all the sharpness of the glass Howard just shattered.

"I asked you a question." Forrest explains slowly – his voice turned dangerously slow and threatening – before he asks, in a steadier voice that gives nothing away, "Where's she gone?"

Howard says nothing. He couldn't, even if he wanted to, even though he needs to. Instead, he stares down at his right hand, looks down at the blood that drips from it, and he watches as the red splatters down onto the bare earth; staining it, drenching it, polluting it with his impurity.

"Where's Maggie gone?" Forrest questions, again, in a steady voice that is slowly starting to waver; with anger, maybe, most likely, but Howard can't be certain. All that Howard is certain of is that Maggie is gone, for good, exactly how she said she would be.

He should have known better, he should have stayed, should have convinced her, should have done more than he did, said more than he said, but he didn't, and he has no one to fault for this failure but himself.

"I asked you a question." Forrest says slowly, threateningly.

Howard takes a staggering step backwards and away from his brother; he continues to stare down at the blood on the ground, and he can't help but think back to yesterday, think back to the loss, to the blood, to the baby, and he knows that these thoughts will never cease to silence him, haunt him, drive him mad and drive him to drink.

"An' I ain't sure how to answer it." Howard blurts out, and Forrest frowns.

Forrest doesn't see this as an acceptable answer, "What ain't you sure 'bout?"

"I ain't sure…what to tell you, Forrest, I…" he starts to say, his words will fail him soon and all that there will be between the brother's is silence.

"You got somethin' to say to me, Howard, say it," Forrest demands.

"She's just—she just—" Howard starts to stammer dumbly, and Forrest nods in understanding. "All I know is that she ain't here, an' I ain't sure where she went."

"Uh…huh…" Forrest murmurs.

And Howard, he hates this. He hates that she gave her word, she said she would stay – so that she could say her proper goodbyes – and yet she left after Howard did, even after what he told her. And he was right, when he told her that what she was planning on doing to Forrest would kill him.

Howard can see it now.

Forrest is still breathing, still existing, but he will soon cease living.

His eyes are unreadable as they briefly flickered towards Howard, towards his direction, before they snap down and towards the bare earth where Maggie's car should be parked; but it isn't there, she isn't here, and Howard doesn't know what to say.

"She just…she…" Howard trails off.

He dreads the moment that Forrest will turn around towards Howard, with a blank expression and ask him just why that is, why she isn't where he is, and Howard won't be able to confess, not when he knows that it will kill Forrest.

The front doors open and close softly, loud enough that both Howard and Forrest can hear it, and they both hear a pair of familiar footsteps on the porch behind them. Howard turns immediately, and sees Maggie standing before him.

"There you are!" She exclaims loudly, cheerily, and Howard is baffled. "I was beginnin' to wonder when you boy's would get back."

Maggie is dressed neatly, nicely, in a deep purple shirt and a long red skirt with brown heels; this is the first time, in a long time, such an immeasurable amount of time, that Howard can recall Maggie looking even remotely like the old Maggie. "Howard," she starts, with a small smile, "What took you so long?" she questions, and Howard frowns in confusion.

Forrest starts to move towards her slowly, like he can't quite believe that it's Maggie, his Maggie, the Maggie that he thought to be long gone, before him; she is exuding light and warmth, and she quickly rushes down the stairs to meet him halfway.

Howard backs away.

He turns towards the car, where he retrieves Forrest's suitcase, before he heads back up towards the house. Maggie walks by Forrest's side, they take the stairs slowly, one at a time, and Howard is still perplexed by this play that she's putting on, this show, this act that he doesn't believe for a moment.

He thought she was gone, or that she would be, but the way that she is regarding Forrest, warmly and with small smiles that don't quite reach her eyes, makes Howard think that she isn't going anywhere anytime soon.

But he knows better.

* * *

Maggie glances over her shoulder at Howard, once they have all stepped inside, and she looks down upon the suitcase and the hand which holds it; it is dripping blood, it trickles down onto the suitcase, and there are fragments of glass lodged into the skin of Howard's hand.

Maggie gasps, but Howard doesn't seem at all bothered by it, it is almost as though he hasn't noticed – or if he has, he simply doesn't care – and as Maggie turns around completely to face him, she asks, "What happened to your hand, Howard?"

"He hit me with that hand." Jack states, as he appears from seemingly out of nowhere. He walks over to Forrest, to welcome his brother back, and Forrest is relieved to see how much better Jack is looking; aside from his split lip, and the red markings that brand his throat. "That's what happened to it. I ain't surprised that it's bruising."

"I ain't never hit you with this hand, fool." Howard says belatedly. He shakes his head as he looks down at his knuckles, watching as the blood continues to trickle down his fingers.

"Here, let Jack take this." Maggie says, and she starts to pry the suitcase from Howard's broken and bleeding hand. "Jack?" she calls him over, "Take this upstairs for your brother."

"Welcome home, Forrest." Jack says flatly, and flashes Forrest a fast and forced smile before he turns to retreat upstairs, with his suitcase in tow, and without sparing a glance over his shoulder.

Jack had given Maggie a strange look – suspicion, maybe? Or confusion, - and Forrest had taken notice of this as Jack passed her and reached forward for the suitcase without meeting Howard's eyes.

That isn't the first sign that something is wrong.

Jack is lacking something, a spark, life, same as Maggie and, to some extent, same as Howard. Howard has never been one to be bursting with light and life and laughter, but he's never been in such a sullen state, in such a mood, in such a slump, as he has been as of late.

Howard flexes his fingers slowly, he starts with his pinky, and the other fingers follow slowly, as he flexes them and stretches them; he doesn't feel the pain, he doesn't feel the sharp sting that he should have felt when he punched the glass, and, instead, he feels the dull throb of anger as it starts to rise up again.

"It's nothin'." Howard declares.

There have been various signs, numerous indications, that something has occurred in Forrest's absence, something sinister and unspoken, and Forrest will find out just what that something is.

Maggie looks shocked, and, as she takes Howard's hand and examines it, she says to him, somewhat sternly, "Howard, look at your hand, that ain't nothing."

Forrest watches as the two of them interact; he watches them with curiosity, confusion, uncertainty, and he is puzzled by the familiarity in which they regard each other. He doesn't understand it, doesn't know why it irks him as much as it does, why it displeases him and angers him so, and he doesn't know how they came to be in such a place.

They are friendly, and Forrest knows that he shouldn't be bothered by that but he simply can't help himself from feeling something, akin to jealously, when he watches the way in which Maggie guides Howard over to a table and pulls out a chair for him to sit.

"Sit." She commands, and Howard does.

Forrest can't recall the last time that Howard submitted to a command so easily. He doesn't take orders, and Forrest finds it rather peculiar that Howard is going along with what Maggie says so easily and without any signs of protest.

Maggie leaves to retrieve supplies, for the second time that day, and she forces herself to not feel or look flustered; instead, she wears false smiles and fake expressions as she tends to Howard and tells Forrest to take a seat also.

"Sit down, Forrest." Maggie says, and pulls out a chair for him. "When I'm done helpin' Howard, I'll fix you boys somethin' to eat. You must both be starving."

Forrest grunts in response, takes a seat and places his hat on the table, where it sits among various items, such as iodine, a bowl, a washcloth, tongs, bandages, and Maggie moves it, without glancing towards Forrest, and hangs it off of the spare chair beside Forrest.

Howard sits across the table from Forrest, he avoids looking directly into the grey eyes of his younger brother at all costs, and he even avoids Maggie's eyes as she begins to tend to him; she pulls a chair up, and begins to gently take care of his hand.

She is cautious, as she had been with Forrest, and she takes great care and uses even greater precision as she uses the tongs to remove the shards of glass that are lodged within the skin.

Maggie works efficiently, with precision and care, but she also works hastily. She drops the bloodied shards of glass into the bowl, and Forrest continues to watch the two openly, and with that same mix of curiosity and confusion.

"You goin' to tell me what happened?" Forrest asks, after a prolonged period of uncomfortable silence.

Maggie falters in her movements, she had just removed a fragment from Howard's hand, and Howard holds his breathe for the briefest of moments.

Maggie's eyes, which are full of alarm and unconcealed panic, immediately flicker up to Howard's blank blue eyes; Forrest takes note of this, as he has been observing the pair closely for some time now, and he doesn't miss the way that Howard's eyes almost dare to flicker towards Forrest, but they freeze before they can.

He also catches sight of the small, almost unnoticeable, shake of Maggie's head. She shakes her head, as though to disagree with whatever it is that Howard is thinking, and Howard abruptly looks down and away from her.

"You goin' to tell me what happened to your hand, Howard?" Forrest asks, again, and he swears that he sees Maggie exhale a small sigh of relief; she seems to relax, the tenseness in her shoulders fades, and she starts to tend to Howard's hand once again.

"Nothin'." Howard says, he decides that it's best if he keeps his answers short and to the point.

"Nothin'?" Forrest echoes the word and frowns, ever so slightly, before he says, "It don't look like nothin', Howard." but he isn't talking about Howard's hand, and he gets the feeling that Howard knows that, that Howard knows precisely what Forrest is referring to, and he straightens up immediately.

Howard coughs twice, roughly and harshly, and he starts to retract his hand away and out of Maggie's delicate hold. "I'm alright." he assures her, but she reaches out for his hand and pulls it back towards her.

"You're stubborn." she observes. "Just like Jack."

"What…happened, with you an' Jack?" Forrest questions, and Howard draws in a sharp breath before he says, as steadily as he can, "We had a ruckus…told you that before, Forrest."

"I know what you said, Howard, but what you didn't say was why."

"You know what Jack's like."

"I do." Forrest concedes. "But I ain't go 'round hittin' the boy for it."

"You know what he's like, Forrest, with his big mouth an'…an' he ain't ever known when to just shut it." Howard says, and Forrest remains blank, indifferent, and unsatisfied with Howard's answer.

Forrest nods, and proceeds to fall silent.

"He means well." Maggie says, even after her altercation with Jack just earlier she still agrees with this statement, that even though he has a big mouth he has an equally big heart. He means well, sometimes he just fails to come off as meaning well. And he's just a kid, after all.

Forrest watches closely, he watches each look shared between the two, each touch, he watches as Maggie's skin brushes against Howard's as she reaches over him and to the supplies beside him. He wants to believe that it is nothing, but it doesn't look like nothing; it looks like his suspicions confirmed, it looks like betrayal and deceit and guilt.

After Maggie is finished, after she has removed all the glass, cleaned and dabbed iodine on the wounds, and bandaged up Howard's broken hand, she stands and turns towards Howard with a small smile, "Now, I'll make you boys up somethin' to eat. You must be starvin', Howard."

_It don't look like nothin'._

Howard stands up abruptly, his chair scraping noisily as he rises, and he says, politely and in an oddly formal tone, "No, thank you, Maggie." he nods in Maggie's direction, says nothing more, and steps away and strides away and outside.

Maggie cooks for Forrest, fights the fatigue that threatens to overwhelm her, and ignores Forrest's eyes – which she can feel trailing her figure – as she moves about behind the bar. She pushes any and every thought regarding these past few weeks behind her, and she sits down beside Forrest to enjoy a meal together.

"Where's your car gone?" Forrest asks bluntly, as Maggie takes a seat beside him.

"Oh, I, uh, I thought I'd move it 'round the side." Maggie says, without meeting his eyes, "I thought I'd give you boys some room." she adds, but he doesn't believe her for a second.

They don't talk much after that, and Maggie isn't surprised, or disappointed, because they never do, but this is different. "Is it…is it alright?" she asks, and gestures towards Forrest's plate with her fork.

"Mmhmm." Forrest agrees, as he stares down at his plate, while chewing on some of the lunch that Maggie cooked up. He eats slowly, she barely eats, and Maggie can't help but wonder if this is how they functioned before; because she can't recall what was real and what wasn't, what was fact and what was fabricated.

Usually, they'd share a few small words, a meaningful glance, a brief touch, but Forrest seems intent on keeping his distance from Maggie; and, for that, she doesn't blame him, despise him, or fault him, for she is quite intent on keeping her distance from him for the meantime.

She is still swelling with sorrow and pain, that she has managed to temporary conceal, but she is almost certain that if Forrest looks at her a certain way or touches her gently that she may shatter into many unfixable pieces and she can't unleash that burden upon Forrest who is already so burdened as it is.

* * *

In the late afternoon, when the sun has started to sink behind the mountains, Maggie reminds Forrest that his bandages are in need of a change, "Your bandages need changin', Forrest."

He glances up slowly from the table, towards Maggie and where she stands near the bottom of stairs, "Uh…huh." he says, and he watches her as she walks towards the bar.

"I'll set up upstairs?" She asks, and he simply grunts in response.

Maggie brings up a bowl, a washcloth, and a handful of bandages for Forrest's bullet wounds. She had almost forgotten that he had been shot several times, that he had been injured severely, for he conceals the pain very well, he shows no sign of it in those eyes of his, but, sometimes, when he walks it will show in his steps.

He moves slower now, slower than before, and he walks almost stiffly, almost as though it is causing him a great deal of pain to do so, and Maggie is almost certain that she caught him wince earlier, when took up the stairs in the early afternoon, but he'd never say a single word if it hurt.

Jack steps out from behind his bedroom door, just as Maggie reaches the door to Forrest's bedroom, and he asks, in a voice as quiet as a mouse, "Have you told him?"

Maggie jumps at the sound of his voice, so sudden and abrupt in this silence that she has long become accustomed, and she sighs before she reprimands him, "Jack." she shakes her head, "You shouldn't go sneakin' up on people like that." she reprimands him, because she almost dropped her supplies, "You nearly scared me to-" Maggie stops abruptly, and she is horrified by her own choice of words.

You nearly scared me to _death_.

Death. It taunts her, tortures her, and there is nothing she can do to escape it. She had tried, so desperately, to not think upon her loss – the pain of which is still so raw and rough inside of her – but it was not but a day earlier, and she can't keep fighting how she feels.

Maggie feels exhausted, more so than she ever has before, and she is completely and utterly riddled with guilt; it consumes her, it controls her, and she won't be surprised if it kills her.

She feels horrid, absolutely despicable, for carrying on as though it never happened; but she doesn't know how to act, how she's supposed to feel when, truthfully, she can't feel a thing at all. She can't feel because she's forced herself not to for so long that she doesn't know how to; all she feels is tired and hollow.

"I ain't sneakin' up…" Jack mutters awkwardly, as he tries to regain Maggie's attention.

"I gotta go, Jack, I got things to—to do." Maggie tells him angrily, as she steps inside the bedroom and shuts the door behind her tightly.

She inhales deeply, forces her hands to stop shaking, and exhales loudly. She moves away from the door, and starts to set up the supplies on the floor, by a chair, before she stands back up, recomposes herself, and puts her mask back on; but that mask shatters, as her hand brushed against her stomach when she was readjusting her clothes.

With shaky hands, she hesitantly places a hand to her stomach; she expands her fingers, so that she is able to touch more of her stomach, and as she starts to cry she presses a hand to her mouth to suppress the sobs that she knows will resound loudly if she dares to remove her hand from where it is clamped harshly over her mouth.

* * *

"Sit." Maggie commands gently, as Forrest slowly steps into their bedroom that night. He hangs his hat on its usual peg by the door, before he begins to make his way towards the chair in the corner.

As he slowly walks towards that corner of the room, he starts to remove his cardigan.

Maggie is dressed in a pale nightgown, with a robe on top of that, and she is kneeling down on the ground by the mattress; puttering around with the various items that she has laid out there, in the space between the bed and the chair.

"Not there." she says as Forrest approaches the chair.

Maggie stands to greet him, "On the bed," she tells him, with a small smile, and reaches out to take his cardigan for him. "It'll be easier if you're layin' down."

Forrest grunts in response.

He slowly starts to unbutton the buttons of shirt; he starts with the one at the very top, and he works his way down slowly, gradually. As he reaches the last few buttons, he tugs his shirt out from where it was tucked into his pants and undoes the last two remaining buttons of his shirt.

Maggie appears before him once more, and then she moves behind him; she reaches out, assists him out of his shirt, even though he doesn't need the help, and her nails scratch lightly across his skin as she pulls the material off of his shoulders and further down his back.

Forrest turns his head slowly, he can feel Maggie's sweet and warm breath on his neck, he can feel her delicate hands as she places them almost cautiously on the bare skin of his shoulders, and he cranes his neck slightly; he doesn't turn to look at her completely, he only watches her out of the corner of his eye, and she doesn't look up at him either.

Her hands slide down his skin, until they touch the material of the bandages that are wrapped firmly around his body, and her hands stop here. Instead of walking around Forrest and unraveling the bandages as she walks, she moves closer and starts to unravel the bandages from where she is standing behind Forrest; she slips an arm around him, past him to reach for where the bandage is tucked in, and she pulls it loosely.

Maggie's hands are warm as they brush against Forrest's skin, as she passes the bandage back and forth between her two hands as she begins to unravel it further; once she is finished, she discards the bandage to the floor and remains where she is.

Forrest breathes heavily, Maggie barely breathes at all, and both think about reaching out, about moving closer, about consoling and comforting each other over unspoken sorrow - the tension between them is almost palpable, she almost leans forward to press a kiss to his skin - but she thinks better of it and quickly pulls her hands away before she backs away from Forrest.

"Go on." she says, and nods towards the direction of the bed. "Lay down."

He nods slowly – because he knows that if he speaks, his voice will come out all husky and dry – and he turns to watch Maggie fold the cardigan neatly, before she places it atop of his neatly folded cardigan.

Forrest moves silently towards the bed, and even though he finds a small degree of difficulty in sitting down swiftly he remains silent. Even as he feels a sharp pain as he sits down, he ignores this, just how he ignores the soreness and stiffness of his limbs as he props himself up against the wall and awaits Maggie's arrival.

Maggie kneels down by the bedside without a word, and she begins to tend to him just as silently; she moves with a hesitancy; this is unlike the way she tended to Howard, as she had moved with certainty, as though she was comfortable, but this is the complete opposite.

"Jack sure is glad you're back." Maggie remarks, to which Forrest grunts in response.

Forrest remains still and unreadable, as always, as he watches her, and her movements, intently. He continues to watch her closely as she moves, with precision and haste but still that same hesitance, almost as though she is hesitant to touch him, and she brings up a washcloth, which she had dipped the end in a bowl of water, up to his chest.

"He missed you." she says, and he wonders if she did.

Maggie dabs lightly at the wounds, cleans around them before she rubs across them gently, "An' Howard is, too." she continues, even though she doesn't know why, even though she shouldn't be, because even though she prefers the silence these days this silence is bordering on suffocation.

She needs to hear Forrest's voice, to hear him make a sound, any sort of sound, even if it is the usual 'mmm' or the typical grunt, because she needs to know that he is real, that this is real, and not something that she's made up. "Glad you're back, that is. He's glad you're back. He's missed you too, you know."

There are numerous scars littered across Forrest's body, and the bullet wounds only add to that number.

Forest doesn't wince, as Maggie cleans the wounds, or show any sign that his injuries are causing him discomfort – even though they are – because he has never been expressive like that, he has never been one to let on about a weakness, to expose himself, and he doesn't want to burden Maggie with the burden of a pain that is most bearable in comparison to various other ailments and injuries that he has had to endure over the years.

"I mean, sure, he has a hard time showin' it," Maggie tells Forrest, and she briefly glances up at him. He continues to watch her with curiosity, mild confusion, and she looks away because she finds that his eyes are much too earnest and burdensome.

There are no looks shared between the two now; Maggie's eyes stay firmly fixed on Forrest's chest and stomach as she tends to the wounds, "But he's real glad you're back, Forrest." she says, and he wonders if she's glad.

Maggie stands, steps around the mattress, and kneels down on the opposite side of the bed to tend to a wound that she wished to get a better look at first. As she kneels down by his side, _that's_ when he speaks, "Uh…what about…uh…what 'bout you?"

"What about me, Forrest?" she asks, and pretends that she doesn't understand what he means, because this way she'll get to hear a little bit more of that voice, that is sweet on her ears that have been so accustomed to the silence. She leans in, examines the wound, and finds that it is not nearly as bad as she had thought it to be.

"Did you…uh…are you…uh...mmm...glad…" Forrest murmurs slowly, and she patiently waits for him to finish his sentence, carrying on with her work as she does so.

"Am I glad about what, Forrest?" Maggie asks, as she leans across him and reaches forward for the bandages; the soft fabric of her shirt brushes against the bare skin of his chest, and, even though he had parted his lips to speak, he falls silent; the only sound is a low, guttural sound in the back of his throat.

He watches her, with that same curiosity, and she needs to break the silence so she asks, again, "Am I glad about what, Forrest?"

The bullet wounds are scattered randomly across his body, and Maggie distracts herself with this – as she can feel Forrest's eyes weighing heavily down upon her – but soon she finds that even this will not suffice for a distraction.

Forrest's hand shoots out, and his fingers wrap around her wrist lightly, but tightly enough that she can feel the contact, and this is enough to freeze her where she is; she is hovering over him, and he simply watches her, waits for her, wishes that she'd let him know what it was that was bothering her so badly.

Maggie turns to face Forrest slowly.

Her blue eyes gradually move from where they were fixated on the bandages and up to meet his grey eyes; he can't be certain if this is his Maggie, or if this is a stranger, an imposter, who is trying to take her place.

"Am I glad?" Maggie asks softly, and Forrest makes a small grunt, his eyes never leaving hers, "I'm glad." she says, her voice a low and warm whisper.

Forrest watches Maggie's eyes intently, while her eyes fall down to his lips; she begins to move in slowly, because she is drawn to him, she always has been, she always will be.

Seconds before she is about to press her lips to his, Forrest makes a sound, a low murmur, and she pauses. "Uh…are you…uh…mmm…"

Maggie stops, straightens up, and retreats; as she does, she lightly uncurls Forrest's fingers from where they are holding onto her, and she moves back and away so she is out of his reach.

He was reluctant to let her go, to release his hold on her, and he only does once she has gently pried his fingers from his skin. "Uh…" he continues softly, and he is surprised to see that he has her full attention.

Her eyes meet his, for the first time since his arrival back home, and she raises her eyebrows expectantly as he continues to remain silent, "Am I what, Forrest?" she asks tiredly.

"Are you and…uh…Howard…?" he asks this with difficulty, because he doesn't want to think that, let alone ask her if, she and Howard have had something while he has been absent.

"Are me and Howard what?" Maggie questions with a frown.

She doesn't understand what he's getting at. She reaches across him, careful to not meet his eyes, brush against his skin, or be within his reach, and she retrieves the bandages.

"Are…uh…the two of you…" Forrest trails off, because he doesn't want to voice such thoughts.

"No, Forrest." She answers bluntly, and he wants to believe her, he really does, because in the old days he would believe her, just like that, no more questions asked, but these aren't the old days anymore.

He knew with complete certainty that his Maggie wouldn't betray him, and he still believes that now, but he doesn't know whether or not she'd lie to him, hide something from him, just for the sake of protecting him, or herself, or someone else.

"Lean forward." Maggie commands, and she slowly begins to wrap the bandage around his body.

Forrest waits, he doesn't speak another word, and he waits patiently and dutifully as she tends to him, as she gathers her thoughts and then gathers up the items she brought with her; he doesn't mind waiting for her, he'll always wait for her.

* * *

When Forrest climbs into bed that night – after he had been tended to by Maggie, he headed back downstairs to tend to matters of business – he is surprised to find that Maggie is on her side, with her back to him, as she usually faces him when she sleeps.

She curls up beside him, curls up with him, but not now; now, she sleeps with her back to him, and when he slides underneath the sheets he finds that she is more than a fair distance away from him.

He longs to reach out, to run his fingers through her hair, to place his hands on her fair skin, to take her in his arms, to sleep peacefully with her, but he doesn't do that. He doesn't know what has happened, or why it has, but he's lost her; he knows that he has, he can see it, sense it, and feel it.

And he'll wait for her.

Forrest has dreaded this day, for a small part of him knew that it was inevitable. He knew that he might not be enough for her, that this life may not ever suffice, but he loved her regardless, he will love her regardless, and if she needs time, to think and to heal, he'll give that to her; because it's the least that he can do.

For weeks, he thought about her, he thought about her fair skin and her fiery locks, about what it would feel like to finally lay beside her in bed, to finally be back with her, and this was not what he had imagined.

* * *

Forrest wakes to an empty bed.

He looks down upon the emptiness sadly, before he starts to sit up slowly. He rubs at his face, pushes the sheets back from his body, picks up his gun, and stands up from the mattress. As he starts to move about the room, he swears he can hear the sound of a commotion downstairs; so he starts to move towards the closed door, and begins to make his way slowly, but steadily, downstairs.

When he emerges downstairs, in a long sleeved shirt and a dark cardigan with equally dark pants, he finds the three of them – Maggie, Howard and Jack – huddled around the end of the bar. He can only see the back of Howard's head, but he can see Jack and Maggie's faces clearly.

Maggie straightens up immediately, noticeably so, as her eyes fall upon Forrest.

"Mornin', Forrest." she says, and shoots Howard a look before she walks away from Jack and Howard.

Forrest grunts in response, and he watches the three of them – particularly Maggie – with curiosity, as Jack straightens up and walks away, towards the further end of the bar, while Howard takes a seat near where he was standing.

Maggie prepares breakfast for the three brothers.

She pointedly ignores the way that the three of them watch her – each in their own ways – and she continues to go about making a meal for each of them. She spares a quick glance over her shoulder, at Forrest, and watches as he sits down at a table – he is wearing a long sleeved shirt with a dark cardigan and equally dark pants – and leaves Jack and Howard by their lonesome at the bar.

"Stop botherin' the lady, Jack." Howard barks, from where he is hunched over at his end of the bar. Jack had been whispering, leaning in towards Maggie, asking something, telling something, hiding something, and Forrest watches as Maggie awkwardly turns towards him and shushes him softly.

Maggie serves up breakfast for Jack, but even then the boy can't seem to keep quiet. "Shut up and eat your damn breakfast, Jack." Howard growls.

The two brothers sit at the bar, but they sit a fair distance apart – and in silence – as Jack is eager to keep away from Howard, who is still silently fuming about yesterday's unfortunate occurrences, and Howard is still trying to train his temper and teach himself how to keep that anger to himself; so he thinks it best that he steer clear from Jack for the meantime.

Maggie doesn't sit down for breakfast.

"Ain't you havin' any?" Forrest asks, as Maggie brings his plate over towards him; he looks upon her face, and can't help but notice the tired lines there, the signs that say she hasn't been sleeping well.

"I already ate." she tells him, and he isn't sure whether she's lying or not.

In the old days, he used to be able to know, instantly, and he was able to read her, but this isn't his Maggie. He remains quiet as she places his plate down on the table, before she flashes him a brief smile as she walks away and back towards the bar to take care of her chores.

Jack chomps away silently, Howard pokes at his food with his fork, while Forrest watches each of them – confounded by the current situation – and wonders just what sort of horrible incident may have occurred to make each of them act so strangely, make each of them keep their distant, keep their thoughts to themselves, and he knows that it's not nothing.

_The course of your life is changing...you don't even see it._

But he sees it now.

He sees all that has changed, all that is still changing, and all that promises to change with each new dawn and day.

* * *

Forrest steps outside after breakfast.

He thanked Maggie, watched her closely as she goes about with her chores, waited for her to say something, anything, and when she didn't he stepped outside silently and sat in his chair on the porch.

While he was in hospital, all he ever thought about was coming back home, and he wonders just how it came to be that now he's at home he doesn't feel as though he is. Forrest's train of thought is interrupted, as he watches the cars slowly beginning to descend upon Blackwater Station.

"Glad to see you're back in one piece, Forrest." Rodger remarks, as he steps up the front stairs of the Station slowly, with two other regulars in tow.

"Rodger." Forrest says and nods towards Rodger in acknowledgement.

"I tell you, Forrest, I sure am glad things'll be goin' back to the ways they were." Rodger says, and he takes off his hat as he steps up onto the verandah and holds it in front of him, the way that Howard usually does, and spares a small smile for Forrest.

"How do you mean?" Forrest inquires, frowning at the phrase 'back to the way they were, as he turns to look in Rodger's direction.

Rodger is a regular, with a bristly beard, which is as black as coal, and bluer eyes than Maggie, and he shifts awkwardly, almost uncomfortably, under the intense stare of this infamous Bondurant brother, "Oh, I ain't complainin', Forrest." he clarifies, "I understand that you was in hospital an' all."

"Uh…huh…"

Rodger continues, regardless of Forrest's obvious confusion, and he gestures towards the Station with his worn hat as he says, "An' I understand it woulda been difficult for your brothers to run this joint without you,"

"Mmm…" Forrest murmurs and muses this over.

Howard had told him – a day earlier – that business had been running as usual, it had been a bit slow – due to the wariness of a few locals who were still concerned after the blood bath at the bridge – but it had still been carrying on without Forrest. Maggie cooked, served drinks, and Howard sat on guard at the bar, but now Forrest finds that isn't the case.

"An' without that woman from Chicago," Rodger adds, and Forrest's already present frown already deepens. "She sure is a fine cook, Forrest."

Forrest hadn't been paying all that much notice to Rodger and his rambling, but those words captured Forrest Bondurant's complete attention, "Without her…?" Forrest questions, "What do you mean, without her?" he pauses, and blinks slowly, three times, before asking, in a voice so slow that it's verging on dangerous, "She go somewhere?"

Rodger shakes his head, but Forrest isn't convinced, "She was here when I came 'round," he tells Forrest, and Forrest grunts in response; this doesn't deter Rodger, who continues to ramble on regardless of the brooding silence that Forrest has fallen into, "An' that Howard's sure one lucky fella."

"Is that so?" Forrest asks disinterestedly, glancing away from Rodger briefly and towards the other cars approaching the Station.

"Sure is." Rodger confirms.

"An' why's that?"

"There ain't a man in town who doesn't wish he were Howard Bondurant," Rodger tells Forrest, and Forrest can't figure out just why that would be; Howard is a drunk, with a temper, he is haunted by the horrors that he suffered in the war, and he hasn't got much for others to be envious of. "What with him havin' a lady like that to warm his bed of a night, we all wish we was in his place."

* * *

**A/N:**Thank you, each and every one of you, you are all lovely! I write this for you.

* * *

In reply to **Guest #1:  
**Thank you! I know that the reunion was sort of downplayed, but for good reason. Forrest is suspicious, Maggie is still in pain, and both haven't truly had a reunion as they are not truly themselves, but when that time comes there will be a reunion.

In reply to **Katie:  
**Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! You are so lovely, and I am so flattered! Thank you :).

In reply to** KC:  
**Thank you for the review! I hope you enjoyed this, too. :)

In reply to **Guest #2:  
**Thanks for the review, feedback is always greatly appreciated! There will be a lot more drama now, considering that Forrest is back to stir things up a lil'.

**X  
**


	13. Shaking Through My Spine

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy

Forrest moves with slow, methodical steps.

He moves forward with that same slow, dangerous and deadly, precision.

He moves silently, like a poisonous snake in the grass, like an animal stalking its prey from afar, and as he steps inside he finds the two of them together; they are standing in close proximity to one another, talking in hushed voices, and Forrest frowns as he watches Howard duck his head to hear what it is that Maggie is murmuring.

Forrest approaches them, and Howard notices before Maggie does.

The eldest Bondurant brother straightens immediately – both his posture, and his expression – and Maggie soon follows, mimicking Howard's movements before she looks up at Forrest with feigned innocence.

Howard looks away briefly, uncomfortably, as Forrest's eyes weigh down heavily upon the two of them; Howard has long felt uncomfortable about being involved in their business, about knowing things that he shouldn't, things that Forrest has yet to be told, and now he is literally in between the two of them.

Maggie stands to Howard's right, and Forrest to his left, and he shifts awkwardly as Forrest looks between the two of them before he focuses his gaze on Maggie, "Go, Howard." he demands, and Howard seems reluctant to do so.

Forrest starts to feel the rage – that he is usually quite skilled at suppressing – bubbling up to the surface. The very thought of Maggie betraying Forrest like that, of his own brother betraying him like that, was enough to make Forrest mad; but this, this confirmation, this verification of his worst fears come true, doesn't simply make him made.

It enrages him.

It maddens him to the point that he needs Howard to leave, now, before he acts out in anger, before he pulls out the brass knuckles from his sweater pocket and clocks Howard in the face with them.

Forrest can feel his blood boiling – hot white rage coursing through his veins – and he needs Howard to leave, now.

"You need to leave, Howard." Forrest warns, without turning to face Howard; because his eyes are still firmly locked on Maggie's fretful features.

"I ain't leavin', Forrest." Howard states defiantly.

Forrest draws his eyes away from Maggie slowly, and locks his lethal stare onto Howard as he says sharply, dangerously, "I ain't askin' you to leave, Howard," he spits out slowly, emphasizing each word in a deadly and dangerous way, "I'm tellin' you."

The atmosphere in the bar has changed dramatically; the customers, who are scattered about, at various tables and bar stools, must have taken notice of the tension as they have mostly fallen silent, aside from the small murmur of low conversation that they hesitantly pass to one another, and they look anywhere but directly at the Bondurant brother's.

"Now," Forrest says, and drags his eyes back to Maggie. "Maggie, do you have somethin' that you wanna say to me?" he asks bluntly, and she glances towards Howard for help; for Forrest, this hurts as much as the idea of her betrayal does.

She has to go to another for help, assistance, protection, when she has Forrest standing in front of her; Forrest who has always been willing to help, assist, protect, and yet she turned to his brother for comfort while he was resting up in hospital

"Ain't nothin' happened, Forrest." Howard declares, and Forrest has a hard time restraining himself, controlling what feels like uncontrollable anger, and not pulling his brass knuckles out from his pocket and punching Howard in the face until he feels that anger fading.

"I wasn't speakin' to you, Howard." Forrest replies sharply, his words tainted with disgust and disdain, because he can't quite believe that his family would betray him in such a way, he can't believe that Howard would stoop so low and that Maggie would betray him the way that she has.

Howard nods, but then he starts to speak, again, and Forrest wonders why he hasn't got the message, "It ain't what you're thinkin', Forrest." Howard states, and Forrest continues to watch Maggie.

"Is that so?" Forrest questions, but before Howard can respond he asks quickly, "An' just what am I thinkin', Howard?"

"Maggie told me what you said, Forrest." Howard says, and Forrest wonders just why she did that, why she felt the need to do that, when it has only ever just been the two of them and they never needed to go to anyone else. "She told me what you're thinkin', and you're wrong."

"She did, did she?" Forrest says, with a frown and without glancing away from Maggie. Then, he disagrees slowly, angrily, "That ain't what I'm thinkin, Howard. You wanna know what I'm thinkin'?

Forrest blinks slowly, as he turns towards Howard with a deadly look in place, an unwavering glare, and a string of slow threatening words that remind him of that bastard Rakes - _toe the line, country boy,_ to which Forrest had turned towards him and said, with the same look he is wearing now, _don't you ever touch me again - "_This is what I'm thinkin', Howard." he starts, and Howard swallows noisily.

"I'm thinkin' that if you don't leave, now," Forrest pauses, as though deeply contemplating his next choice of words, before he continues, sounding just as deadly as before, "Then you will be scraping pieces of your fuckin' brain off of the floor for weeks, you hear me?"

Howard nods curtly.

He turns towards Maggie briefly, she nods in confirmation that he can leave, and he starts to slowly step away from the two of them, "I ain't finished with you, Howard." Forrest says, and Howard halts in his strides.

Howard understands that Forrest will want to find him later and have a word with him, so he nods in confirmation before he makes his way over to the bar where he swipes a jar of moonshine before collapsing on a barstool.

Forrest turns his attention back to Maggie, who watches him with that same fretful expression, so he moves closer towards her and asks, bluntly, for a second time, "Do you have somethin' you wanna say to me?"

"No." Maggie says. "I ain't got nothin' to say to you." she adds, and starts to walk away, starts to walk past him, but Forrest moves before she can and blocks her way, stops her from running, hiding, but something tells him that this won't be enough to keep her in place.

"How 'bout we take this someplace private." He says, and he isn't asking, he's telling her, and he starts to move away from the bar and over towards the stairs. He isn't concerned about anything happening downstairs, because no one would dare to make a wrong move, to try and steal or start a ruckus, with Howard Bondurant sitting at the bar downing stump whiskey.

* * *

"I ain't got nothin' I want to say to you, Forrest." Maggie repeats, as they reach the top of the staircase.

Forrest remains silent, and the two of them are standing in the hallway, in that same silence, waiting for the other to say the next word. Forrest speaks next, because he feels as though if he doesn't then they will continue on in this perpetual state of silence and secretiveness.

"Ain't there somethin' you wanna share?" Forrest questions, and Maggie shakes her head. "No? Nothin' at all?" he checks, and when she shakes her head once more he continues, as calmly as he can, in a slow voice, "Alright, well, would you care to tell me just how it came to be that word 'round town is that you is warmin' Howard's bed?"

Maggie remains silent.

She doesn't respond for a moment, nor does she react, visibly, and she almost laughs as she tells Forrest, tiredly but angrily, "You know what, Forrest? I think I do have somethin' I want to say to you." she pauses, and he raises his eyebrows slightly, expectantly, impatiently, "I ain't been with Howard, if that's what you're gettin' at. An' I know it ain't my place to say it, but I can't believe you'd threaten your brother like that, after all he's done for you, after all he's done for me, an' I sure as hell won't stand by and let you goddam—"

"What's he done for you?" Forrest cuts across her abruptly, as this particular statement caught his attention. "I asked you a question." he explains, and Maggie shakes her head as she takes a step back. "Maggie." he warns, as she looks as though she is planning on running, "I asked you a question."

"He's been a friend, Forrest, nothin' more an' sure as hell nothin' less." Maggie retorts, and Forrest is surprised at the anger in her words, the irritation, the frustration, all of which are evident as she steps back another step and says, "I ain't got time for this, Forrest, not now."

"I ain't finished, Maggie." he tells her, to which she sighs.

"I am. I'm finished, Forrest." she answers, and she walks away before he can stop her – just how she always does – and she disappears down stairs before he can tell her he's sorry, for assuming the worst, for believing the local gossip, for not trusting her, not being there for her, not listening to her.

* * *

Forrest heads back downstairs shortly after.

He spends sometime at a table, tending to matters of business, and occasionally glancing up at Maggie to observe her as she carries about with her chores, works behind the bar, engages in friendly but brief conversation with some of the locals, and acts as though their argument never happened.

There is something different about her, something wrong, something is missing.

"Come on…" Maggie says, as she struggles to open the lid of a jar. One of the men sitting at the bar offers to open it for her, but she declines their offer and proceeds to twist and tug at the lid. "Come on. Come on!" she mutters, Forrest continues to watch her curiously, and she resorts to hitting the neck of the bottle, right where the lid is, lightly on the edge of the bar.

But it isn't lightly.

There is much more force, much more anger, behind the hit than there should be; the bottle cracks, loudly, under the force, and Maggie slips. The edge of the glass slices her hand, and the jar shatters as Maggie drops the bottle to the floor; she jumps back, as it crashes, and grips the edge of the bar as she guides herself backwards.

Maggie winces, as she feels a sharp jab in her hand, and as she pulls her hand away from the bar to examine it she sees that there are shards of glass lodged within her hand.

"Goddammit…" she curses, hissing as she watches the blood trickle from the cuts.

She is too enrapt with the blood, too traumatized by it, too paralyzed, to have noticed that Forrest has walked over towards the bar and is now standing behind it, nodding at the locals at the bar to take a seat elsewhere – and they do – and then he turns his attention on Maggie, whose right hand is shaking uncontrollably as she examines the cuts.

"You…uh…are you alright?" Forrest questions, with a small frown, and she sighs.

"Do I look alright, Forrest?" she snaps back, and he gets the feeling that her question is one that isn't in need of an answer. Maggie doesn't wait for his response, and instead she kneels down by the broken glass and glances around helplessly f1or something to gather it up in.

The jar had consisted of jam, and there's too much red, too much blood, and she can't seem to process her actions properly, can't function smoothly, and Forrest takes note of this; he kneels down before her, and attempts to catch her attention, "Maggie?" he calls her name softly, but she can't seem to hear him.

She starts to gather the glass and the jar up with her hands, she starts to push it into one big pile, and Forrest _has_ to stop this, has to stop her from further hurting herself, "Maggie?" he calls her name, again, and ducks his head, so to try to get a better look in those eyes of hers.

"Maggie, look at me." Forrest commands gently, but she doesn't.

"Goddammit…" Maggie sighs in frustration, as she continues to gather up the glass and the clunks of jam. "What was I thinkin'…" she mutters, more to herself than to Forrest, "_What_ was I thinkin'!"

"It was just an' accident." Forrest says softly.

"Just an' accident?" Maggie repeats his words, somewhat angrily, and without looking up to meet his eyes, "It wasn't no goddamn accident, Forrest, it happened because of me." she shakes her head, "An' there ain't nothing you can do to fix this, Forrest, it's broken because of me. I have to be the one to fix it."

Maggie continues to ramble on, she rapidly changes from angered to irritated to frustrated in a matter of seconds, and then Forrest forces her to stop; he reaches out, takes a hold of both of her wrists, lightly, and asks her, pleads with her, "Look at me, Maggie."

And she does, after a fleeting second of hesitation.

"I'm sorry, Forrest." she says sadly, and her voice starts to waver, her words shake uncertainly as she continues, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." she doesn't look away, she continues to meet his eyes as she says, somewhat angrily, "I'm _sorry_. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Maggie tries to retract her hands, but Forrest only holds them tighter, "It's alright," he tries to soothe her, but he doesn't know how. "It's alright, it's alright."

"It's not alright!" she exclaims loudly, and wrenches her hands harshly away and out of Forrest's hold. "It's not alright, Forrest." she tells him, the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks as she babbles, "It's not. It's not alright. It ain't ever going to be alright."

"It's just a jar, Maggie." he says, stupidly, because he knows that it isn't just a jar, it isn't about just a jar, it's never been about just a jar; it's about a hell of a lot more than that.

"But it's broken, Forrest." Maggie says, trying to fight the sobs that she can feel oncoming. "An' there ain't nothing we can do to fix this..."

He tells himself that she's talking about the jar, that she isn't talking about the two of them, what they had, what they still have, and he forces himself not to follow her when she flees.

Forrest doesn't want to leave her be, but he doesn't want to smother her, suffocate her, aggravate her, so instead he settles for cleaning up the mess behind the bar while reciting over and over again, like a prayer, that when she said '_there ain't nothing we can do to fix this_' that she was talking about the jar.

* * *

Jack finds Howard outside, slumped over by the side of the house, with two empty jars of whiskey beside him and a third jar – which is half empty – gripped tightly in his hand. He had wandering around the side, hoping to head up to the edge of the Forrest, where Maggie's baby was buried, and pay them a visit. But he had stumbled onto Howard, Howard who was slumped against the wall, sitting in the dirt, with a strangely blank expression on his face.

"Howard?" calls Jack, to which he receives no response.

Howard notices Jack immediately, but he stays silent. He doesn't acknowledge his younger brother, doesn't try to antagonize him or irritate him, instead he glances up at him briefly before looking away and back down at the jar in his hands. Jack, however, has other plans.

"Howard?"

Not only is Jack still guilt ridden over his involvement in all the lies and deceit, but he is guilty over the cruel words that he spat at Howard, about him being a drunk and not a war hero, because he knows that Howard will be more of a hero than Jack himself will ever be.

And being a hero isn't even about taking life or winning glorious battles; it's about defending and doing what needs to be done, regardless of the cost, regardless of how it takes something from you that you can't ever get back.

Some might call that reckless, but Jack thinks it's mighty brave.

"What you want, Jack?" Howard asks tiredly.

"I-I wanted to say I'm-I'm sorry, Howard." Jack stammers, rubs at the back of his neck, and looks down at his shoes simultaneously.

"I ain't in the mood for your horseshit, Jack." Howard warns, without glancing up, and his voice lacks the usual anger that would usually accompany such a statement.

Jack looks up immediately, mouth hanging open as he says, "I ain't makin' it up, Howard. I'm real sorry."

Howard looks up at this, looks up at Jack, looks up with clouded eyes and says, "You're sorry? You ain't a kid anymore, Jack. Sorry ain't always gonna cut it, not in this life."

"I know I ain't a kid, Howard." Jack says, but he sounds like one, sounds petulant and on the verge of throwing a tantrum. "But' I ain't got anythin' else to say but I'm sorry."

Howard drops his eyes back down to the whisky, takes a sip, and nods; that's the only acknowledgment that he gives Jack, gives Jack's words, gives Jack's apologies, because he can't do this right now.

"Where were you goin'?" Jack asks and Howard sighs.

"I thought you said you ain't got nothin' else to say?" Howard asks and takes another sip from the jar.

Jack shrugs. "I just—I thought you were headin' up there," he says, and nods in the direction of the unmarked grave, up by the edge of the forest, and Howard freezes. "But I'm guessin' you collapsed here." he finishes, and Howard takes a bigger sip from the whiskey.

He finishes the jar, and Jack watches on with wide eyes as he does.

"I was…goin' up there." Howard confesses, after a moment of silence and a moment of procrastination; he didn't' want to have to discuss this with Jack, he didn't' want to have discuss death with Jack, because it is too much, too soon, they shouldn't be speaking of such things. "But…I couldn't. I can't." he adds, and picks up a jar of whiskey, which is full, from the pile beside him.

There are empty jars strewn across the dirt, and Jack guesses this is the last full one.

"I can't face Forrest." Jack says, as he takes a seat down on the dirt beside Howard. "I can't—I mean the guilt is just eatin' me up."

"Why?" Howard asks with a frown; he wishes that it wasn't so, that Jack didn't have to live with such a burden, but he supposes that it's all a part of growing up and becoming a Bondurant; you got to deal with things you don't want to, face demons you wish you didn't have to, and live with burdens that others wouldn't be able to handle.

"There ain't nothin' that you coulda done, Jack." Howard says.

What he doesn't say is 'there ain't nothin' that any of us coulda done' because it would be a lie.

He could have done things differently, he could have helped, he _should_ have helped, but he failed and there are a countless number of things that Howard believes he could have done differently to avoid all of this sorrow and pain.

Jack disagrees, "That ain't true."

Howard turns towards Jack, and regards him with a frown and a look of disbelief, "An' just what could you, Jack Bondurant, have done differently in all of this?" he asks, and Jack looks down at his hands.

When Jack doesn't reply, Howard speaks again, "That's right. Nothin'." he says, and keeps his eyes on Jack, "There ain't a goddamn thing you coulda done differently."

"How come I feel so damn guilty for?" Jack asks, and Howard isn't sure what to say back; so, for a moment or two, he doesn't say a word.

"When a life is taken like that, we ain't got a say in it…we ain't got anythin' to do with it." he pauses, as he considers his next words, and then he settles for saying something similar to what Forrest had said once; Howard can't recall most of it, but he remembers it had something to do with birds.

"You see that bird up there, Jack?" Howard asks, and he points to the lonesome bird flying across the boundless blue sky. "You had as much to do with this as that bird does…that's right, you had nothin' to do with it…it ain't your fault, you was just…flyin' by, that's all."

Jack looks up at the sky, there are dark clouds hovering about ominously, and he watches as the bird soars across it freely, roaming where it pleases, and he smiles; but it's only brief, for the burden of guilt comes crushing back down upon him.

"But what 'bout Forrest?" Jack asks, before he tells Howard, "I ain't innocent in that. I'm keepin' things from him. Lyin' to him. I can't even speak to him without breakin' out in a sweat!" he exclaims, and Howard passes him the whiskey.

Jack takes a small sip, and as he does Howard says, voice light and teasing, "Take it easy there, Jack," before he pauses and asks with a smirk, "Remember what happened last time?

Jack passes the moonshine back to Howard, with a small grimace on his face as he swallows it down, and then he gasps loudly, for air, and Howard has to stop himself from laughing at Jack's expense, "I don't know how you drink this shit, Howard." he crinkles his nose distastefully, and thinks that Howard guzzles it down rather than simply drinks it.

"Easy." Howard says and shrugs. "Like this." he demonstrates, all but inhaling the liquor, and Jack spits to the side as he tries to rid his mouth of the taste.

"Does it help?" Jack questions, and Howard hasn't the faintest idea what he's referring to. He looks at Jack, eyebrows furrowed in mild confusion, and he waits for Jack to elaborate on his previous statement, "Drinkin'? Does it help?"

Howard shrugs casually, looking back down at the jar in his hands instead of meeting Jack's eyes, and he runs his finger around the rim of the jar as he contemplates his answer, "I ain't sure what you mean by 'help'…"

"Does it help you?" Jack asks, and looks down at the dirt beside him instead of making Howard feel awkward underneath his stare.

"I ain't in need of any help, Jack." Howard states, somewhat brusquely, and he gathers that this will conclude their conversation. But, as always, Jack has other plans; he keeps talking, undeterred by the brief flare of anger that just sparked up in his brother's words.

"I'm worried, Howard." Jack declares, and Howard takes a deep drink from the jar. "I'm worried 'bout Maggie."

"Yea…I know." Howard says quietly, because he does, he can see it in the way that Jack is now; the guilt is way, eroding him slowly, and Howard wants to help but he isn't sure how to. "Me too…" he confesses, voice even quieter, because he's been worried about Maggie Beauford ever since she stepped inside Blackwater Station.

"An' I can't sleep proper." Jack tells his eldest brother, "Not since that day. I ain't been able to go past that bedroom without stoppin'. I can't imagine how she'd be feelin', Howard, I don't want to imagine it. An' she's just….she's changin', Howard, she ain't herself." Jack remarks.

Howard already knows this, Howard tears himself up over this, curses himself for this, and he's just as lost as Jack is on how to go about fixing things and helping her heal.

"There ain't nothin' that you coulda done that day, Jack," Howard tells Jack, but he knows that Jack won't believe him just yet – he'll take some time, torture himself some more over this, spend some more time and more restless nights thinking back on it, but then he'll accept it – "An' there ain't nothin' you can do now. You hear me? This ain't up to you, Jack."

* * *

"Rodger," Forrest calls out to the regular, as he starts to make his way down the front stairs of the Station. Forrest had been sitting out on the verandah for some time, while Jack was inside, looking gloomy while perched on a barstool, and Maggie had returned to her station behind the bar.

Forrest had noticed, before he left and stepped outside to leave her be, that her right hand was wrapped in a bandage – the same material as was wrapped around his body – and he knew that they were both broken, but he wasn't giving up on her.

"Evenin', Forrest." Rodger says, voice slightly slurred, as he spins around on the steps and walks up them to stand near Forrest. He tips his hat in Forrest's direction, and waits, somewhat anxiously, for the broodingly silent and solemn looking Forrest to speak.

He looks like a statue, Rodger observes, the way that he is sitting, face devoid of any sign of emotion, any hint of feeling, as he stares off blankly into the nothingness, into the air beside Rodger, as he decides on the best way to word this.

"You got somethin' else you'd like to tell me, Rodger?" Forrest questions slowly, for what feels like the umpteenth time that day.

Rodger looks puzzled; he is perplexed as to just what Forrest is getting at, but then a realization slowly dawns upon his inebriated mind. "Maybe somethin' 'bout that day you came 'round here?" Forrest specifies, and Rodger nods understandingly.

"I ain't supposed to say nothin', Forrest." Rodger confesses, and Forrest is curious as to just why that is. "Howard made me swear I wouldn't say a word." he adds, and now Forrest knows just why that is so; Howard Bondurant is infamous for his temper, for his uncontrollable rage, that is especially lethal on the days like today, where he has been inhaling liquor as though it is air.

Rodger doesn't simply look anxious now, but he looks nervous, too. He starts to shift awkwardly, uncomfortable under Forrest's stern and relentless stare, and then he says, "Surely you can understand, Forrest, I ain't wanna get on Howard's bad side."

"Yea, well, you see, Rodger, I can control Howard an' his temper, that's how it works." Forrest says, he pauses, and finally glances away from Rodger and back out into the night. "He ain't control me, though, that ain't how it work. Surely you understand that, Rodger, an' you see that it ain't gonna do you any good to get on my bad side."

Rodger nods, signaling his understanding of the situation, of Forrest's words, and just as he opens his mouth to speak, to confess, Forrest speaks across him quietly, but loudly enough that Rodger can hear him, "You got somethin' you wanna share, Rodger?" he prompts, and waits, somewhat patiently, for Rodger's confession.

"When I came 'round here…" Rodger starts slowly, uncertainly, "Howard said…he called out, said you was shut for the day. I started leavin', but, before I did, I saw him headin' upstairs with that lady, he had his arm 'round her…I ain't see notin' else, Forrest, I started walkin' away after that."

"Uh…huh…" Forrest stares off contemplatively. "That all that happened, Rodger?" he asks, because he gets the feeling that there's more; he gets the feeling that there's something that Rodger isn't saying, that his hiding, holding back, for the sake of protecting another – but from what? Forrest briefly wonders – but before he can question Rodger further, the man says something that catches Forrest's attention.

"I was 'bout to get goin'…when Howard came runnin' downstairs an' outside…he was all yellin' and shoutin' out at me…" Rodger confesses, and rubs at his temple harshly before he continues, "I ain't sure what happened…all I know is that he sent me inta town, told me to go fetch a doctor, an' I did. But he ain't tell me why…he just told me it was urgent."

Forrest remains silent, and this is unnerving and uneasy for Rodger – who frets that he may have done something wrong, that he may have unintentionally wronged Forrest Bondurant, and that he may be the one to face the wrath of the middle Bondurant brother – and he shifts, once again, somewhat awkwardly under the silence and under the heavy weight of Forrest's eyes as they briefly flicker over him.

"Alright…" Forrest says after a moment, and Rodger sighs inwardly. "You best be off now, Rodger."

"Right," Rodger nods. "Night, Forrest." he adds, as he turns and takes back down the stairs for the second time that night. He slowly makes his way over to his car, and Forrest is yet to move from where he is frozen on the front porch.

He doesn't know what to make of this, how to process this, how to go about asking about this, when he himself doesn't properly understand. He rises slowly from where he was previously seated, and he begins to make his way inside; all the regulars, and a few unfamiliar faces, are filing out now, returning to their homes or their hotels or their cars for the evening, and Maggie and Jack are the only two left at the bar by the time that Forrest reaches it.

"Why don't you go on upstairs, Jack." Forrest says; he isn't asking, he's telling his younger brother what he needs to be doing, now, and he doesn't want to have to tell him again.

Maggie looks up curiously – and somewhat nervously – as she hears Forrest dismissing Jack in such a manner; she begins to silently fret, as she looks up and finds Forrest watching her intently and just as intensely as he had done earlier. "Somethin' the matter, Forrest?" she inquires, to which he replies with a curt shake of the head.

Jack retreats upstairs without so much as sound – to Forrest's surprise, he doesn't even try to protest, or procrastinate – and as he reaches the stairs and slowly begins to climb up them, Forrest continues to remain silent and watch Maggie as she slowly moves about behind the bar.

"You got somethin' you want to say, Forrest?" Maggie asks, almost casually, as she starts to wipe down the bench; but Forrest remains silent, as he struggles to put the right words together, to make sense of this all, and this doesn't surprise or upset Maggie who carries about cleaning the bench regardless of Forrest's silence.

Maggie reaches the end of the bench, where Forrest had moved down to, and as she starts to step around Forrest and move towards the direction of the tables, he makes a small sound, a noise of protest, and she stops to question him on it.

"Can I help you with somethin'?" she queries, and he is stunned at the way in which she addresses him; she regards him as though he is just some customer, and he isn't entirely sure what to make of this.

Forrest moves towards her slowly, he doesn't touch her and he doesn't look at her, and he takes his hat off and places it down on the bench before he turns her and asks, as calmly as he can, "What ain't you telling me?"

Maggie's heart aches at the sound of his voice, at having to hear the sadness in his voice, and she knows that the damage done to Forrest will be irreversible. She looks down, in shame, and when she finds that his eyes have followed her and are now watching her intently she glances away, to her right, to anywhere but Forrest, and hopes that he won't question again as she tells him, "I've got nothin' to say, Forrest."

She declares, and defiantly meets his eyes; he watches her, and she isn't sure if that is disgust or despair in his eyes. Forrest has always been skilled in concealing his emotions, but, for the briefest of seconds, he allows for that concealment to crack and he watches Maggie with eyes that are almost pleading with her.

"That's a shame…" he says slowly, quietly, passively, and Maggie begins to walk away and towards the tables where she intends to wipe them down before she finishes up in the bar and heads upstairs to bed.

Forrest watches her go, he watches as Maggie flees, and as she reaches the first table he speaks up, again, and says the words that cause Maggie to freeze in her movements, "Rodger sure had plenty to say."

_"Caught up with Rodger as he was leavin',"_ Howard had explained to her, _"I sent him to town to get a doctor for you." _and she just knew that it was going to come back to haunt her, that the word would reach Forrest soon enough.

Maggie curses herself, for not leaving when she could have, should have, and for staying around Blackwater Station in the first place when all she ever caused was trouble.

"Is that right?" Maggie asks, as she attempts to appear disinterested in what it is that Forrest has to say about Rodger.

"Mmm…" Forrest murmurs as he approaches her.

Maggie spares a quick glance over her shoulder, to locate Forrest, and finds that he is only a footstep or so behind her; watching her with those heavy eyes of his, those eyes don't follow her movements but instead stay fixed on her eyes.

"Look at me, Maggie." he says, and she knows that she shouldn't, she knows that this will all turn to hell, fall to pieces, break and shatter and crumble, in a matter of moments if she does, but she can't deny Forrest this.

She turns towards Forrest again, and looks at him; he watches her earnestly, sadly, and with so much confusion that it makes her heart swell with sorrow, guilt and regret. "Now," he starts softly, and takes a step closer, so that there is only a small space between them, "What ain't you telling me?" he asks sadly, and she almost tells him; but she can't bring herself to.

Maggie shakes her head in denial.

"I asked you a question, Maggie." Forrest reminds her gently, as she puts a hand to her mouth to keep the sobs silent and at bay.

"And I can't-I can't answer it, Forrest." she stammers.

Forrest nods, deliberates over his next choice of words, and then asks, looking uncomfortable and uneasy as he does, "Are you…uh…are you sick, Maggie?" he questions, and her heart hurts even more when she sees the concern in his eyes, hears the worry in his words, and watches as he waits apprehensively for her reply.

Maggie shakes her head, and Forrest almost looks relieved; but then his frown deepens, his eyes darken, as he questions her, again, "What ain't you telling me?" and when she doesn't reply, he almost sighs, almost curses, almost wishes that he could read her mind, or that she would trust him, but instead he settles for waiting patiently for her.

Because when he told himself that he'd wait for her, he meant it.

He still means it now, even as he watches her wrack her brain for another excuse, another reason, another lie.

"I ain't got nothing I want to say to you, Forrest." Maggie says, and Forrest wishes that she hadn't of said that; but he doesn't watch her angrily, instead he finds that he is more disappointed in her than anything else.

But this, this disappointment, only seems to anger her further; she had expected the anger or the frustration to break through, and instead she is only faced with disappointment.

Maggie throws her dishcloth down on the table as she turns and starts to walk away, "I ain't got a single word I want to say to you right now, Forrest Bondurant." she calls out, but that's a lie, a falsehood, a complete and utter fabrication, because she has a million words she'd like to say to Forrest right now

But if she had to settle for one thing, a single word, she'd settle for this; sorry.

Maggie knows that Forrest is following her, because he is good and kind and loyal, and so she fastens her pace; she can still hear his footsteps behind her as she undoes the latches on the front doors and steps out onto the porch, and she knows that he will stop if she asks him to.

And she will ask that of him, because she is selfishly secretive these days and she doesn't know how to be any other way, how to fix herself, how to change back to who she used to be, and she knows that he will abide because he is respectful of others and their ways.

"Leave me alone, Forrest." she warns, and doesn't spare a glance over her shoulder as she rounds the corner of the house and starts submerging further into the darkness.

Maggie doesn't need to turn back and glance over her shoulder to know that Forrest's footsteps fell silent on the porch; she doesn't need to look at him to know that his face was unreadable – with the exception of his eyes – as he watched her flee, again, with no reason or explanation of any sort.

Forrest is left alone, standing on the porch while the rain starts to softly pitter-patter, and he is left wounded and wondering just how he came to be so deserted in his own home.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you, all you lovely people, and I am truly flattered and appreciate any feedback.

Are you still enjoying this? I know things have slowed down considerably, but they will start to progress soon. Forrest, who has been absent quite a fair bit, will feature a lot more, and all will start to unravel.

Let me know what you think.**  
**

**X  
**


	14. Calling Like A Crow For A Boy

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy

Maggie didn't know where she was going until she got there.

Her feet betrayed her, they led her to an unmarked grave by the edge of the forest, and now they refuse to let her move, to let her leave, to let her run. She is frozen, transfixed by the sight of the grave, and she is so far gone in her morbid fascination that she neither sees nor hears the figure as it approaches her.

Maggie would be startled, petrified even, if she wasn't so horrified by the sight of her child's resting place. "It's just me, Howard." Howard announces, but Maggie can't hear him, not just now, not while she is thinking upon her child.

It is almost as though Howard knows this, it is as though he acknowledges this and respects it, for he takes a seat, down on the bare earth, not too far away from where Maggie is standing, and he waits; because he knows that she is unstable, and, even though Howard isn't exactly a picture of stability, he will try to be remotely stable for her.

Such a sight of the grave evokes various emotions in Maggie, who is torn between an overwhelming feeling of horror and a feeling of fondness and love towards the land.

The rain begins to fall lightly down upon them, kissing the bare earth as it falls, and Maggie relishes in the feeling as it hits her skin, her hair, and cools her immediately. "Do you know why I came to Franklin County, Howard?" Maggie asks.

Howard is surprised to see that she has not only taken notice of Howard and his presence but he is surprised to see that she was not startled as his figure emerged from the darkness and stepped towards.

He doesn't stand yet, but he does watch her and wait for he feels that she will be the one to fill in the blanks for this story, she will be the one who continues, the one who tells him the truth about her arrival here in Franklin County, and he could only ever guess at just why someone like her would move to a place like Franklin County.

"I came here, lookin' for a fresh start." she continues, and he is surprised at the steadiness of her voice as she says, "I came here to get away from death an' to get away from bad man…but I can never get away from it, Howard, it always follows me."

Howard glances up at her, watches as she doesn't wipe away at tears but instead stares at the ground sadly; and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, her face contorts as she grimaces in pain and falls down to her knees.

The rain starts to drizzle down, rather than drip and drop, but neither Maggie nor Howard are deterred by it; Howard is still fixed to the ground, while Maggie starts to touch the bare earth.

Maggie presses her open palm down upon the bare earth, she flattens out the dirt, smoothing it, and smiling almost fondly as she looks upon the ground. "Do you know why I picked here, Howard?"

Howard chooses this moment to stand; he rises from the dirt, doesn't bother to brush it off of his pants, and walks towards her slowly. As he reaches the grave, he removes his hat, in a show of respect towards the deceased, and he waits for her to continue; she doesn't, and so he asks, with a slight frown, "You were lookin' for a fresh start?"

Maggie smiles, it's small and sad and almost pitiful, and she shakes her head. "No. I mean, do you know why I picked this spot here?" she asks, with teary eyes, and turns back towards the unmarked grave.

Howard shakes his head, he remains resolutely silent, and Maggie continues slowly, softly, with both sorrow and some sort of contentment, happiness even, as she explains to Howard that, "I picked this spot because…because I thought that…" her voice starts to waver, and she pauses.

Somehow, she steadies herself and says, as strongly as she can manage, "I thought that if Forrest…" she trails off as the memories start to come flooding back.

"I thought that-that because Forrest never got to meet him…" Maggie stammers, and Howard can tell that the hysteria is starting to slowly, but surely, set in; he straightens up, and prepares himself for the bout of tears, and the anger and frustration that he knows too well, that is oncoming.

"I thought that this would be—I ain't sure why I picked this place, Howard, I just thought that-that the baby would get to be near _a_ forest…even if it ain't the Forrest that he should have got to be near an' should have got to know."

Howard is at a loss for words.

He isn't sure what to say, what to tell her, but when she looks up at him with those blue eyes of hers he can't help but blurt out the first thing he can think of, because he doesn't want her stewing in this silence all by herself – not when he knows what it feels like, not when he knows just how suffocating silence can be – and so he says, "He?"

Maggie turns back towards the grave and blinks back the tears.

"The baby was a boy?" he asks, even though he feels like he shouldn't, even though he knows that it isn't his business, just as much as it isn't Jack's, but he can't help but feel intrigued by the mentioning of 'him'.

"I just knew, Howard." Maggie confirms, and he falls silent. "Sometimes…you just know."

Maggie knew that she loved Forrest, she just knew, she felt it in every fiber of her being, and that was what it was like with her baby; she just knew that the baby was a boy, even though there was no way of confirming or knowing.

The rain begins to fall down, harder than it had before, but it is not enough to send either Maggie or Howard back indoors. Howard shifts, almost uncomfortably, as he asks, "What was his name?"

"James." Maggie says fondly, and without thinking, and she wears a smile upon her lips. But then she remembers that name, all that is attached to it, and she is brought to the brink of breaking, and Howard's next words are what push her.

"That's a real nice name, Maggie." Howard compliments, before he adds, "An' so is Jimmy, if you wanted to short—" he is cut off abruptly, by the sound of Maggie's loud sobs breaking the otherwise serene silence of night.

Howard curses himself, as he looks down upon her and sees the tears that run thickly down her cheeks; this was his doing, his fault, he is, once again, the one to blame for her suffering, her pain, and he curses himself again for being so damn stupid towards the whole situation.

How could he not have seen that such a conversation would hurt her? Such a statement, about the baby's name, was only ever going to cause her further additional pain and yet he continued blabbering on regardless.

Maggie draws in a sharp, noisy breathe, as she continues to fight the sobs.

"Jimmy. Jimmy, where are you?" Maggie cries, and starts to rake her nails through the bare earth, almost as though she is trying to scratch her way through. "Jimmy, don't leave. I'm sorry, Jimmy, I'm sorry."

The hysteria hits, once again, and overwhelms Maggie.

As she cries, and calls out 'Jimmy', she continues to dig her fingers into the bare earth; as though this will change things, fix things, save things, but all she's doing is hurting herself and she can't see that.

All that she can see is Jimmy.

All that she can hear is Jimmy.

Howard intervenes, he has no other choice but to; as she continues to claw at the dirt, he frets for her, for her mental wellbeing and for her health – since she shouldn't be out here in the rain, not when she is already weak and worn down enough – and so he steps up, steps forward, and wraps his arms around her waist to pick her up.

Maggie starts kicking, thrashing, fighting, but Howard continues regardless. He drops her down lightly, so she is standing on her own two feet, and he holds her to his chest until she starts to calm down.

It takes some time, before she starts breathing normal and acting normal, but she gets there; and when she does, she tells Howard that she's fine and, even though he is reluctant to, he releases his hold on her.

"I can't do this, Howard." She declares, and he knows exactly what she is referring to, he isn't daft enough to not be able to read the warning signs, the signs that tell him that she is set on leaving Blackwater Station without sparing so much as a word for Forrest. "I can't." she starts to panic, and as Howard takes a step forward she takes one backwards.

"I can't tell Forrest. I can't, Howard." Maggie says, somewhat anxiously, and he can see that her worries have started to have an effect on her; there are more lines beneath her eyes, more darkness, and the normally bright blues of her eyes are now faded. "He's goin' to be so mad, Howard, an' devastated. He'll hate me, an' I don't think I can handle that. I can't handle that, Howard, I can't."

"He ain't goin' to hate you, Maggie." Howard promises, even though he can't know for sure, because this is what she needs to hear, she needs to calm down and start breathing proper, otherwise she's going to get real tired after working herself up like this.

"He will." Maggie disagrees despairingly. "An' I love him so damn much that I won't be able to live knowin' that he hates me."

"What are you sayin', Maggie?" he asks belatedly.

"I'm sayin' that I gotta go, Howard, I can't stay here anymore."

Howard nods, remains silent, and looks down at the ground before he looks back up at Maggie.

"Don't look at me like that, Howard." she warns.

"I ain't lookin' at you like nothin'."

Maggie shakes her head, before she exclaims loudly, "Don't look at me like that, Howard!" she pleads, and doesn't bother wiping at the tears that stray further down her cheeks as she says, "I ain't got any other choice, Howard, you know that."

"I know that you got a choice to stay, Maggie."

"You know that I can't do that, Howard, I can't." she says, before she states, to Howard's disbelief and slight shock, "I ain't good for him, Howard."

"You ain't good for him?" Howard questions in disbelief. "You are the best goddamn thing to ever happen to him, Maggie, an' don't you think for a second that you ain't."

Maggie remains silent, and Howard draws in a sharp breathe before he asks, "Why?"

The question is so blunt, so simple, that Maggie can't avoid it; but she tries, anyway, tries to word her way around it, tries to slip by it without having Howard notice, so she says, without meeting his eyes, "You know why."

But he notices.

"Why?" Howard asks, for a second time, his voice is demanding and almost stern. "Why can't you stay?"

"Because, Howard." Maggie says, and she knows that it isn't enough, it is a pathetic answer, a coward's way out, but she hopes that Howard will accept it anyhow.

He doesn't.

"Because of what, Maggie?" He asks slowly, patiently, and Maggie snaps.

"Because of what I did, Howard! I can't stay because of what I did to Forrest, to you, an' to the baby. I can't face him, Howard, not when I can't even face myself. You know, there ain't a day that goes by that I don't regret what I did. There ain't a goddamn day that goes by that I don't hate myself for what I did to that innocent baby," she continues, and the anger begins to fade with sorrow and tears beginning to slowly take its place, "What I did to Forrest, an' what I made you do."

"Why?" Howard asks again.

"What do you mean 'why'?" Maggie asks, with slight frustration, as she had clearly just explained to Howard all her reasons why she wanted to run and never look back, never come back, and yet here he was waiting for her to answer his question, a third time, and she can't help but let some of the anger and frustration that she feels toward herself be unleashed upon Howard. "I just told you 'why', Howard! I ain't goin' to tell you ag—"

"Why?"

"Because I killed the baby!" Maggie blurts out. "That's why. Because I didn't want him. Because I was ungrateful. They took him away from me because I was selfish. They took his life because I was too ungrateful about mine. They killed him and kept me livin' for punishment. An' I can't lose Forrest or you or Jack the way that I lost James."

Howard opens his mouth to speak, but he is at a loss for words; he can't believe that she believes that, he can't make sense out of it, and he can't understand why she'd think that just because she was uncertain about the whole pregnancy that the baby would be taken away from her.

Maggie didn't kill the baby.

Sometimes, bad things happen. Unexplainable and unfair things happen, and nobody gets a say or has any sort of involvement in a bad thing like losing a baby under such circumstances; Howard believes this, but he can see that Maggie truly does not.

"Forrest knows." Maggie cries, and Howard is confounded as to how such a thing would come to be; he didn't say a word to Forrest, neither had Maggie, and as far as he knew Jack had managed to keep his big gob shut.

"He doesn't know." Howard disagrees, because he thinks that it's just her nerves, her anxiety, her worst fears, kicking in and frightening her into thinking that Forrest has found it all out.

"He spoke with Rodger." Maggie says, and Howard can't see why that would even be even a little significant in all of this; how could Rodger, a local who has absolutely nothing to do with their life and their business, have anything to do with Forrest finding out.

And then he remembers.

He remembers Maggie was ill, Maggie was pregnant, Maggie took a tumble down the stairs and Howard, because of his fears of leaving her all on her own, sent Rodger to town to fetch a doctor instead.

Howard would be having a word with Rodger.

"He knows. An' I can't face him. I can't face him after knowin' that he knows, an' I can't tell him what he doesn't know." Maggie starts to ramble on, and Howard doesn't know what to do or say.

Howard Bondurant has never been good with words, or with much else aside from beating up folks and killing, and this isn't one of the rare occasions where he knows what he should say; so, instead of speaking, he steps forward, with arms open, to Maggie and he wraps his arms tightly around her.

But Maggie can't be comforted, not for a loss like this, not for an overwhelming guilt like this, and, even though she stays where she is, even though she cries into Howard's shirt, it isn't doing any help.

_It isn't Howard's fault_, she thinks to herself, _it's mine._

This is just another one of her flaws, another deficiency, another inhumane quality that she never knew she possessed; the inability to allow herself to be comforted, the inability to comfort, and the ability to run whenever it pleases her.

"I'm so sorry, Forrest." She whispers into the material of Howard's shirt as she pretends, for the briefest of moments, that it is Forrest who is embracing her and not Howard.

Forrest, who barely looks at her, barely speaks to her, barely acknowledges her, with his arms wound tightly around her, protecting her and forgiving her and loving her – all things she doesn't deserve – and she could almost stay, if only he would forgive her, if only her delusions were true.

Howard hears Maggie's words, small and sad as they brush against the material of his shirt, and he thinks them to be nothing more than what they are; an apology. However, for Maggie, this is her goodbye.

A part of Howard knew that this was goodbye, but the other parts refused to admit it, accept it, respect it, and let her be on her way. Because she couldn't, because she still had so much to say, explain, fix, and she herself was still in need of fixing, but she would leave any, regardless of his pleas; but that didn't mean that he would stop trying.

Not for one second would he stop trying.

Maggie steps out of the embrace, before she stands up on the tips of her toes and presses a quick kiss to Howard's right cheek, "Goodbye, Howard."

* * *

After Maggie had ran off, and demanded that he not follow, Forrest had headed upstairs, and to a far window, to watch where he thought Maggie would be going. He had seen Jack up there earlier in the day, standing by the ground and mumbling words to himself, and now Maggie had fled straight up to that same spot.

He thinks that it is too strangely accurate to be a coincidence, for they both arrived at the exact same location, and now he watches as Maggie stares down at the bare earth; he can't see her face, he can only see the back of her head, but he can see Howard as he emerges from the forest and slowly steps closer.

Howard takes a seat, which Forrest finds most peculiar, and he simply sits there as Maggie continues to stay at that same patch of earth. After a short amount of time, Howard stands and takes off his hat – as one would do at a funeral, or when respecting a grave – and stands beside Maggie.

Then, the strangest thing of all happens; Maggie starts to claw at the bare earth, starts to dig at the ground manically, in a mad frenzy, and Howard has to stop her. She is wild with something – Forrest can't be sure what, for he is so far away from her, lately he is always so far away from her – and she starts to thrash around, to fight Howard, as Howard lifts her up and moves her away, but then she calms down.

And Forrest can't, for the life of him, figure out what in the hell is happening.

Forrest stays where he is, fixed by the window with his eyes fixed on their two figures, for some time. As it continues to darken outside, their figures became blearier, blurrier, and he watches as it starts to rain and yet they stay where they are, side by side, staring at that same damn spot of dirt, before they embrace again.

It's just a hug, Forrest tells himself – he isn't sure why he has to remind himself of that – and as he watches Maggie stand up on the tips of her toes, and give Howard a kiss, he can't douse out the uncontrollable anger that starts to rise in the pit of his stomach once again.

* * *

The rain starts to bucket down harshly, but Howard barely seems to notice as he pleads with Maggie, "Maggie, don't."

"Thanks for everythin', Howard." Maggie replies, as she starts to retreat.

"You can't do this, Maggie!" he calls out after her, but she keeps walking, and he sees that if though she can't do this she still will. "You'll kill him, Maggie"

Maggie fastens her pace, her fiery locks flop around her face lifelessly as she almost breaks into a run to get to her car, and she continues on despite Howard's words that should stop her dead in her tracks and should instill a sense of guilt and regret and sadness but she is numb to all of that; instead, she keeps running, keeps walking, because she's no good for Franklin County and she's definitely no good for the boys at Blackwater Station.

"You're killin' him!" she hears Howard faintly call, but she perseveres regardless.

The rain starts to beat down harder, harshly hitting her, as she comes closer to reaching her car; it soaks her through to her skin, but she is not concerned. For she has been cold for such an immeasurable amount of time, that she barely feels a shift in the weather these days; all she feels is cold, so this is no different from that same numbing cold that she has long become accustomed to.

Howard's words, from what feels like a lifetime ago, echo throughout Maggie's mind as she reaches her car and opens the door with trembling hands, _Forrest's been shot, stabbed, had his throat cut from ear to ear, an' survived an illness that wiped out most of my family an' shoulda killed him but didn't._

Maggie gets in the car, shuts the door behind her, and starts the car with hands that are shaking uncontrollably; she doesn't look back, doesn't glance up, and doesn't think as she proceeds to drive away from Blackwater Station.

"I'm sorry, Forrest." she whispers to herself, as she glances up in the mirror above her; and that's when she sees the figure standing by the window, on the second floor, and that's when she knows she can't turn back.

_He ain't immortal, but he's tougher than anyone I've ever met._

Maggie shivers, but forces herself to focus on the road before her and not the hurt that she is leaving behind her. He hands are numb, frozen to the steering wheel, and she couldn't turn back now even if she wanted to; because Howard knows that she was intent on leaving, as does Jack, so it is truthfully only a matter of time before Forrest finds out.

And she can't deal with that; with his questions, his confusion, his hurt, because she has hurt him enough and he doesn't deserve it, he never deserved it, and yet she hurt him regardless of her love for him.

_But what you're goin to do, that'll kill him_.

Maggie flinches away from those words, and thinks upon her own statement; she won't be able to continue living, knowing that she's hurt Forrest so irrevocably, and so she has no choice but to leave and to continue on elsewhere.

She won't be living, just like Forrest, but at least she won't be hurting him any longer.

* * *

Forrest saw it all.

He watched on, helplessly and with horror, as it played out before his eyes.

Maggie started running, Howard starting yelling, and that was when he lost her.

He lost sight of her, and so he moved, as quickly as he could considering his injuries, towards the front of the Station, towards the windows on the second level that should look down upon her, and as he reached the window he watched on, helplessly and soundlessly, as Maggie's truck turned around and started driving away from Blackwater Station.

He couldn't make sense of it, he didn't understand, and he wouldn't allow himself to think that she had left him, but when he saw Howard and his downcast fast he just knew.

_Sometimes, you just know,_ Maggie had once told him.

They were in bed, tucked up underneath the sheets, and she was stroking the side of his face as he started to slowly drift off to sleep. She had been talking about love and such things, to which he had chimed in with the usual 'grunt' or 'mmm' when needed.

Her hand slipped behind his head, started running through the fine hair at the back of his neck, when she had leant in and whispered, "Sometimes, you just know." and then she had kissed him, it was soft and sweet and he knew he'd never get tired of kissing her.

When she pulled back, she told him that, "Sometimes, you just know that it's love." she was almost hesitant in the way that she said it, cautious of his reaction, scared that she might be saying too much, even though she was saying so little, but she had continued on, "Sometimes, all you need is to know…that it's love…an' you don't need to say or know any more than that."

He took a moment before speaking, he wet his lips before he said, so quietly that she almost missed it, "I know.'

And that was how he told her he loved her.

Forrest knew then that that's what it was, that it was love, and he hoped that she knew it. The way that she smiled at him, so brightly and so fondly, told him that she knew it, that she felt it, and that was all they needed to say.

But, apparently he was mistaken, so terribly mistaken, and now he knows that he has no one to blame for her leaving but himself. He didn't say enough, didn't do enough, wasn't around enough, and now she's gone, just like that, and he isn't surprised that she didn't spare him a word of goodbye; she didn't even bother packing.

* * *

Howard trudges up to the house slowly.

He moves with unhurried, sluggish steps, and he doesn't lift the defeated slump of his shoulders as he treks through the rain and the mud and up to the front steps of the verandah. He doesn't stay there and stare off blankly into the distance, in the direction where Maggie Beauford disappeared; instead he steps inside and closes the front doors quietly behind him.

He sees Forrest immediately.

Forrest is sitting at the bar, staring off blankly into the workspace where Maggie would cook and chat and smile. He takes a deep drink from the jar in his hand, before he drops it down loudly on the bar and continues to stare off into the distance.

Howard approaches Forrest.

He moves slowly, hesitantly, and with caution.

Howard is not yet certain of how much Forrest knows, or how he intends to react to the situation if he indeed does know as much as Maggie thinks he does, and he doesn't wish to aggravate Forrest in such a situation as this one.

When he reaches Forrest's side, he sees a sight that he'd never seen before and he never thought he'd live to see; there sits Forrest, looking just as, if not more, defeated than Howard. He isn't livid with uncontrollable anger, he isn't in a jealous rage rambling on about how he's going to spill Howard's brains across the floor of the bar, and he isn't suspiciously staring down the Howard or Maggie while posing questions that they haven't been able to answer.

"Forrest?" Howard asks, he stupidly checks to see if this is indeed his brother.

Forrest doesn't look like Forrest, not with the way that his shoulders are slumped over and his eyes are heavy as they stare down a clear jar of liquor, and he doesn't sound like it as he answers, with more words – with the exception of Forrest threatening Howard - than he's addressed Howard with in days, "You didn't try an' stop her." he says, and Howard's heart sinks.

_You should have been there._

And he should have been there, just how he should have tried harder to stop her.

"It's alright, Howard…" Forrest says, his words are slightly slurred.

Howard hadn't expected his brother to acknowledge him any further, not after yet another failure, and yet he is. It is only after a few seconds that Howard realizes that Forrest saw it all play out, and Howard, who was about to speak, falls even quieter at the thought of Forrest knowing and seeing what had just unraveled.

"It's alright," Forrest repeats, before he says the next string of words that stun Howard, "I…I wouldn't have stopped her."

Howard frowns, he is not only puzzled by Forrest's words but he is, for some peculiar and unknown reason, angered by them; he never saw his brother as one to give up so damn easily, not when he had been born and raised a fighter, and yet here he was giving up on the best damn thing to ever happen to him, the best thing to happen to any of them, since Howard can remember.

"You wouldn't have stopped her?" Howard echoes the question, before he asks, angrily and with a frustration that he should be using on Maggie and not on Howard, "Why in the hell not?" he asks, and Forrest isn't even surprised by the sudden burst of anger.

He barely even blinks.

"I ain't goin' to force her to stay." Forrest replies slowly, his words are flat and dull as he continues, "This ain't no damn prison, Howard." he adds, but his words lack their bite, they lack the sharpness, the warning, the anger, and Howard is at a loss for why that would be.

Howard waits before he replies, and his words carry all the sharpness and the anger that Forrest's are lacking, "I ain't sure what the hell I'm spose' to say back to that, Forrest."

"You ain't supposed to say nothin' back..." Forrest murmurs, before he takes a sip from his jar and continues to stare at the spot where Maggie would sometimes be.

There is no way that he'd be making it upstairs tonight, especially not up to their room; he won't be able to bring himself to do it, not when he will picture her there – just how he is picturing her behind the bar now – and he knows that he wouldn't be sleeping, he'd be stirring and cussing himself for all he did wrong, all he did to push her away.

He can't go upstairs, not when she left her clothes behind.

And they'll smell like her, just how the bed will, and he can't bear that just yet.

"We gotta do somethin', Forrest." Howard declares, and Forrest simply shakes his head once in disagreement; there is nothing to be done, nothing can be done, and he knows that Howard is trying to help but he can't.

"Ain't nothin' to be done, Howard…" Forrest replies tiredly, and Howard doesn't understand, not for one second, and he will be damned if he lets his brother give up like this.

"You can go after her, Forrest." Howard suggests, even though he knows that Forrest won't; it's not in his nature, because he respects people and the ways that they have, respects their choices even if he doesn't necessarily approve of them, and he'd never force a woman to do something against her will.

"I can't do that, Howard." Forrest dismisses that idea, and they both know that it's true.

And Howard was right, he has never been more right about anything, when he said that Maggie leaving Forrest like this would kill him; he can see it now, in Forrest's movements, in the air surrounding him, in his words, in his voice, in his eyes.

Howard will never forgive himself for bringing this upon their house; not when he was the one who should have been there, but wasn't. He started all this, by failing the both of them, and now he needs to finish it be at least trying to fix this.

"I can." Howard says, and starts to walk away.

* * *

The weather is getting worse as Maggie gets further away from Blackwater Station.

Not only is she soaked to the bone and shivering, but dry sobs are threatening to overtake her body as she thinks back upon Howard, who she left standing by the grave looking so hurt and helpless, and then Forrest, who stood solemn and forlorn by the window, and she pulls over because of these thoughts.

The car sits on the side of the road, and she tries to think about anything but the hurt that she's caused, the love that she left behind, and the gaping hole in her heart that is rendering her breathless.

_Sure, he'll keep breathin', same as me an' Jack,_

Maggie is breathing, but barely, and she imagines that Forrest would know now; and that he would keep breathing, but barely, just like her, and he'd be hurting even worse than what she could imagine.

This piercing pain that she felt would be nothing in comparison to the all-consuming pain of betrayal that would have rendered Forrest speechless by now; she tries not to think of it, but she can just picture his face, picture the way that he attempts to stay composed but she can clearly see the way something cracks in his eyes, in his composure, as he discovers the truth.

_But he'll stop livin' if you go leavin' him like that._

"Damn you, Howard Bondurant." Maggie curses as she starts the car up.

The rain pelts down, smashing down against the windshield, but the worsening weather isn't why Maggie turns back; she turns back because when she thinks about Forrest, thinks about the family they almost had – the family that she still has, waiting back on her at the Station – and she knows that they deserve better than this.

Maggie sees the car heading towards her before she feels the impact.

* * *

Howard walks away without a word, just how Maggie did.

The eldest Bondurant brother stalks over towards one of their cars, the one that got damaged in the shootout, the one that Howard managed to repair – aside from the bloodstain that wouldn't come out – and he starts the car up without thinking, and proceeds to drive away and down the trail that leads away from Blackwater Station.

Howard knows that Forrest wouldn't chase her, wouldn't force her to come back, and wouldn't plead with her, because he doesn't want to force this life upon her, but Howard will be damned if he'll let her leave his brother like that.

She's supposed to be family, and this isn't how you treat your family; Howard's learnt from his failures, and he'll be damned if he starts failing his family all over again like he hasn't learnt a damn thing.

He'll do this for Forrest, because he owes him, because he will be forever indebted to him, and he'll do this for Maggie because he knows that this isn't what she wants, this isn't who she is, and she just needs some help finding herself.

* * *

Forrest Bondurant has never been a big drinker, but the thought of losing Maggie, the thought of being without her, continuing on without her, is unbearable; the very thought of a life without Maggie Beauford is something that Forrest can't fathom

The drink doesn't help much, at first, but then it does. It helps Forrest feel less, think less, and therefore hurt less.

When he hears Jack's hesitant footsteps on the stairs, he knows that he doesn't have the energy or the will to tell Jack to go on back up to his bedroom. "You alright, Forrest?" Jack calls out, he isn't used to seeing Forrest slumped over the bar; it's usual Howard who keeps himself in the company of liquor, most days and mostly all day, but now it's Forrest.

Forrest grunts in response, and he finds that he doesn't even have it in him to object when Jack sits on the barstool to his right. "I'm sorry, Forrest." Jack says, shaking his head, and keeping his eyes low, as though he has committed a most condemnable act against his brother, and Forrest can't fathom this either.

Not much is making sense in his alcohol addled mind.

"Uh….huh…" Forrest murmurs, he doesn't try and make sense of Jack's words.

"I saw her leave," Jack says, and so did Forrest; that'll be the only thing he ever sees when he thinks upon her, he'll see her running, trying to escape as fast as she can, and he will know that he was that insufferable to her that she didn't even bother packing. "An' I'm sorry that she did…I shoulda told you, Forrest."

Forrest spares his younger brother a brief glance, and sees that he looks just as guilty as he sounds; his eyes are heavy, as they stare down at his hands, and he almost flinches as Forrest turns towards his direction. He is acting like a child who is about to be severely reprimanded, and this catches Forrest's interest.

"I shoulda known that she woulda done this..." Jack shakes his head. "I mean, I know she packed her bags an' was ready to leave before but this…this I didn't see happenin'."

Forrest frowns, and Jack falters, as he glances up and sees his brothers' perplexed expression, but that's not when he realizes that Forrest doesn't know all of it, and so he continues on ignorantly. "I thought she was gone for good. She got in her car to go, an' then she turned it 'round an' parked it' round the side of the house. Started actin' like it never happened, an' then she greeted you an'—"

"She left?" Forrest questions quietly, and that's when Jack realizes.

* * *

When Howard finds Maggie, it isn't how he thought he would.

He thought that he would find her in town, waiting for the next train to come or waiting for the weather to improve so she could drive right on out of Franklin County, but that isn't how or where he finds her.

Howard almost misses her entirely; he's speeding down the road, the rain is still bucketing down and the road ahead is bleary in the darkness but he continues on regardless. He has his lights on, but he can only see so far ahead of him; he scans the roads intently, looking for her truck, that he hopes isn't too far ahead, and that's how he almost misses her.

His eyes are glued on the seemingly endless road before him, a pit of darkness where there is no light, and that's when he finds her. He stops as soon as he sees her, his heart lurches in his chest as the car lurches to a stop right where it is, in the middle of the road, and that's when he finds her.

Howard looks on in sheer horror as he sees Maggie's truck mangled on the side of the road, from where it has collided with a tree; the windshield is smashed, the front of the truck is totaled, and Maggie is slumped over the wheel lifelessly.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks, to each of you who read/review/favourite/followed, and I am truly flattered. You guys are a great part of the reason for why I write this, and why I will continue to. That, and I love writing it.

Thanks again, to all you lovely people!

**X**


	15. In the Hollows Of My Eyelids

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy

The rain pelts down, harsh and heavy, fierce like hail.

Howard stares at the sight before him; his mouth is hanging open, agape in horror and disbelief, and his delayed response can be attributed to the sheer shock that he feels, the horror that courses throughout his veins, and the gut wrenching guilt that succeeds in paralyzing him.

He struggles with the door handle, he finds difficulty in getting out of the car swiftly and hastily, like he needs to, and he silently curses himself for being such a fumbling fool. After some initial delay and difficulty, he finally gets the door open, and he is unstable on his legs as he stumbles forward, and this is all because of the thoughts that are screaming at him.

"Maggie?" he calls her name, and is surprised by the unsteadiness of his own voice.

Within moments, Howard is already drenched, he is soaked straight through to the skin, but the cold isn't what bothers him, for he barely notices the chill that is slowly overtaking his body, but it is the sight of Maggie's truck embedded into the tree that bothers him the most.

Howard runs towards the mangle vehicle in large, hurried leaps.

Somehow, he manages to pry open the slightly indented door, all the while he continues to chant her name, as though this is helping, as though this will be enough to wake her, save her, fix it all.

Howard can't reach her, not from here, not from where he is standing, not when she is on the farther side, so he has no choice but to hop up into the car – which is significantly smaller now, considering the harsh impact with the tree that caused the front of the truck to crumpled into itself – so that he can better survey the damage.

When the car crashed into the tree, the windshield must have cracked, upon impact, but it is still intact; he supposes that this is only so because the front of the truck is large enough that it took the worst of the hit, and he is thankful for that, because he doesn't wish to imagine what may have happened if Maggie had gone through the windshield.

However, her small frame is trapped between the wheel and seat.

She is slumped forward, her ginger curls have fallen across her face, strewn haphazardly, and they serve as a perfect shield that hides her from the outside world, and so Howard gently tilts her head back.

The eldest Bondurant brother brushes back the hair from Maggie's face, and that's when he sees them; the cuts, the blood, the marks that he knows will turn into dark bruises, and these are all scattered across her fair skin.

"Maggie?" he calls, feeling stupid as he does. "Maggie, can you hear me?" he asks, urgently, impatiently, fretfully, all the while he is hoping and praying – even though he has never been a man to pray all that much – that she will respond.

Howard outstretches his hand once more, and fumbles, like the clumsy fool that he curses himself for being, as he searches for her pulse; his is so goddamn nervous, his entire body is electrified with a fear that he has only ever felt two or three times before, and this is evident in the slight trembling of his hands.

Maggie doesn't stir, not even the slightest, not even as Howard clumsily searches for a pulse. He, after his frantic attempts to find one, locates a slow but sure heartbeat, and he is almost relieved.

Almost.

Because that heartbeat is slow, faint, and undoubtedly getting fainter with each passing second, and he begins to fret even more for her. Howard moves with frantic movements, instead of calm and collected ones, and as he tries to move her he is confounded when he discovers that he can't.

"Fuck." he curses loudly.

Howard bites down harshly on the rage that bubbles at the back of his throat, because he is always so damn useless, stupid, foolish, and always too goddamn late.

He knows that he won't be able to get her out of the car from here, so he is forced to get out; he darts around to her side, the more mangled side, the side that appears to have taken the worst of the hit, and he tugs the door handle harshly.

He moves swiftly, without a second of hesitation or doubt, because that single second could cost Maggie her life.

The door doesn't budge, and this only serves to further anger Howard, further aggravate him and send him in a downwards spiral of sorrow and ire – the sorrow that he feels for Maggie, and the ire that he holds for himself – as he tugs on the door, but there seems to be no point

"Come on, motherfucker…come on." Howard mutters, cursing at the door, as though this might help, and he pulls on the handle harsher, putting all of the strength that he has behind it, but it still is yet to budge. "Come on, you piece of shit! You goddamn worthless piece of motherfuckin' shit! Come on!"

Howard sighs inwardly, a deep sigh of relief, as the door reluctantly swings open and reveals the state that Maggie is in; her legs appear to be trapped in, on a most awkward angle, and it is only now that Howard realizes the contorted shape that she is in.

It isn't a natural shape, and Howard's chest starts to heave heavily, up and down, as he starts to panic for Maggie, for the almost sickly pale colour of her skin, for the dark blood that he didn't seem to see before, and for the unnatural shape that here body is bent into, particularly the direction in which her legs are angled.

Howard exhales loudly, as he steps closer, eyes falling upon the damage, which seems to be significantly worse on this side, and he swears that he hears Maggie murmur, swears that he sees her stir, but when she says nothing else, and doesn't move another inch, he guesses that he's seeing things now.

He doesn't want to hurt her, doesn't want to damage her even more, but he knows that she can't stay here, he knows that she could die if she stays here, and he can't let that happen, he won't, he'll be damned if he does.

Maggie makes a noise, a small sound, something that Howard doesn't quite catch, but he's sure that he heard it, he knows with strong certainty that he heard it, he has no doubts about this, and she moves slightly, a deep frown present on her features as she turns her head, he knows that he isn't imagining this.

"Maggie?" he can't help but be a little bit happy, at seeing her stir, but that happiness is soon quashed.

She opens her eyes slowly, drowsily, with a grogginess that Howard often has after a night of drinking, and she seems to struggle to keep them open, just how she struggles to focus properly on her surroundings.

"Can you hear me?" Howard asks quietly, but she can't, not past the ringing in her ears.

Maggie makes a small, pained noise, as she attempts to move more, and Howard has to stop her, has to hold her arm softly, gently in place, to stop her from moving too quickly, too impatiently, and consequently causing further damage to herself.

As she turns to face Howard, there is a small smile on her lips.

"Forrest…" she murmurs, and this is the first coherent word that he has heard from her, since she first stirred and woke, and she appears as though she is in a daze of sorts.

There is blood trickling down her forehead – Howard hadn't seen this from the other side – and while there are injuries to the left side of her face, these wounds are substantially worse – and he puts a hand to her cheek, despite the blood that is there, and he tries to see into her eyes.

"Maggie? Can you hear me?" he questions, but receives no response.

Howard wants to stop the blood, wants to find the precise source, but he can't be certain, for there are so many cuts scattered across her skin that the blood has mixed together and makes finding the precise sources difficult.

"Look at me, Maggie." Howard demands softly, but she doesn't look at him.

She closes her eyes, as she leans into the touch, before her head lolls lifelessly to the side.

"Maggie?" he panics, and that panic is evident in the trembling of his words. "You gotta wake up now, Maggie." he tells her, as he tries to move her gently, but a sense of urgency overcomes him and he moves quicker, with less gentle movements and with more haste and impatience.

"Maggie, you gotta wake up now, you ain't got a choice. Wake up, Maggie." Howard chants, and the rain still pours down, relentless and unforgiving, as it crashes against the bare earth below his unstable feat, and as they continue to soak him. "I know you ain't gonna give up easy, Maggie, you're a fighter…you gotta help me, Maggie, you gotta wake up an' do some fightin'."

Somehow, he manages to remove her from where she was firmly stuck between the wheel and the seat, and, although he is extremely hesitant about moving her body – because of the most unnatural shape that it was contorted into – he knows that he must move her, otherwise a worse fate will await her.

Howard slides an arm behind her shoulders, and the other underneath her bent and bloodied knees, before he picks her up completely and begins to make his way towards his own car; he attempts to shield her from the rain, by pressing her closer to his chest, but she is almost as soaked as he is by the time that he reaches the car.

He curses himself, for not opening the passenger door in anticipation of this; for he knows that he will find difficulty in maneuvering to the side and opening the door, while clutching Maggie closely to him.

Maggie is damp, pale and unresponsive, as Howard slots into the driver's seat – with Maggie's body still in his arms, for he doesn't wish to leave her be in the passenger seat, where she could fall freely, so he decides that this is the best option – and starts up the car.

"I ain't lettin' you go, you understand?" he speaks to her, even those it's pointless, "That's why I came after you, 'cause Forrest couldn't, 'cause he's too busy fightin' himself, an' 'cause I ain't lettin' you go easy, none of us can."

Her head rests against his chest – her lips are parted and pale, almost while – and he still has that same arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, while the arm that he had slid underneath her knees to lift her now steers the car towards the direction of the town.

It isn't the easiest option, but he has driven in worse states before, and he will be damned if he lets go of her, even for a second, not when she is still fading fast, not when he refuses to let yet another member of his family leave him.

* * *

"Where's Howard?" Jack asks belatedly.

Forrest thinks up a number of valid explanations, reasonable excuses, believable lies, but he decides on settling with what was true, because there have been enough falsehoods floating around Franklin County as of late.

"Gone." Forrest says, but Jack doesn't seem to understand.

And then it makes sense.

"Gone after Maggie?" the youngest Bondurant brother questions, almost excitedly, as he moves with hurried footsteps towards one of the front windows of the station, one of the windows that faces the road, overlooking the tracks that lead up towards the house.

Forrest grunts in response.

He discards of an empty jar, before he reaches behind the bar to retrieve yet another.

Jack spares a brief glance over his shoulder, towards his older brother, because the sound of clinking glasses catches his attention, and the concern that he feels is evident in his features as he eyes off the number of empty jars that are strewn across the countertop.

Surprisingly enough, Jack says not a word, he doesn't make a single sound, as he turns his attention back towards the window, where he eagerly, and naively, awaits the return of both Howard and Maggie; he has a childlike naivety and blissful ignorance, he always has, and Forrest almost envies it.

"Damn, Forrest!" Jack exclaims.

Forrest briefly wonders what it would be like to be so blissfully ignorant, to be naïve, to defiantly believe that Maggie Beauford will soon find herself and ultimately find her feet on a path that will lead back to Blackwater Station and back to Forrest.

But he isn't a child, wishing is wasteful and pointless, and he knows that he can't afford to be naïve or ignorant, he has to be realistic, he has always had to be realistic. Ignorance and naivety are weaknesses, vulnerabilities, which enemies will gladly exploit.

"That shoulda been you!" Jack says, and Forrest hasn't the faintest idea why, why it should have been _him_, why it should have had to be anyone; Maggie wished to be alone, and, as reluctant as he is, Forrest is merely respecting those wishes.

Jack shakes his head, as though he is chiding Forrest, scolding him for his foolish, all the while the middle Bondurant brother continues to take deep gulps from his jar of whiskey, "That shoulda been you!" he says, again.

_Like a goddamn parrot_, Forrest thinks, but doesn't say, instead he makes a small grunt.

"Makin' a big sweepin' gesture like that."

"An' just why would I want to go an' do somethin' like that?" Forrest asks, slowly and almost disinterestedly, and he is more wondering out loud than anything else he doesn't expect, or require, any sort of answer from Jack, but that doesn't stop Jack, it never has before and most likely never will

"Just 'cause…" Jack says quietly, and ducks his head coyly. "She's your Bertha." he confesses, as he turns back towards Forrest; there is a frown creased across his older brother's forehead, and Jack is quick to clarify.

"I-I mean—she ain't your Bertha," he stammers hopelessly. "I know, I mean, 'cause Bertha ain't yours, but what I meant to say—what I mean is—"

"Spit it out, Jack." Forrest warns sharply.

"Bertha is the best thing…that has ever happened to me," Jack declares. "She's good, an' I never thought I'd meet anyone like her. But I did, an' I ain't ever gonna let her go. What I'm trying to say is…Maggie was to you, what Bertha is to me."

Forrest would never dare say it aloud, especially not to Jack, but, strangely enough, he knows just what Jack is talking about; because sometimes you just know.

"She makes me want to be better, an' I am better when I'm with her." Jack continues, he speaks fondly of Bertha, with a small smile plastered on his lips the entire time.

Forrest knows exactly what it means and exactly what it feels like to find someone that makes you want to be better, "There ain't no one else out in the world that I want to be with. If she left, an' even if I knew I'd have to spend years lookin' for her, I'd follow her anyway. I'd follow her anywhere she asked me to."

"Go on upstairs, Jack." Forrest demands briskly, belated, and he appears to have paid no sort of notice to Jack's declaration of his love for his dear Bertha, when, truth be told, the words make more sense than any of Forrest's reasoning for why he let Maggie go.

_Must be the drink_, Forrest thinks to himself, because Jack's words don't make sense, Jack's words are brash and irrational and they aren't supposed to sound so damn grown up.

Jack seems reluctant to depart, and this is evident in the glance of hesitation that he spares, between the window and Forrest, "Go on up to your room, Jack." Forrest says, and it is more of a warning now, instead of a simple command.

Forrest's words are sharp like the edge of a blade, but slow like a steady train, "Go." he says, and Jack is quick to comply.

_She makes me want to be better,_ the words taunt Forrest, they mock him and echo throughout his mind, and what hurts the most is that those words are exactly what he always felt, always thought, never said, and she made him want to be better, he was starting to be better because he was simply with her.

He had all of that, all of what Jack said, and yet he made the mistake of letting it go.

_I never thought I'd meet anyone like her, but I did an' I ain't ever gonna let her go._

Forrest let her go.

He doubts that he will ever forgive himself for it.

* * *

Maggie.

That's all Forrest can think about, she is all that he can think about, as he sweeps glasses from the bar in swift movements, as he tosses and kicks chairs haphazardly, until he is left with nothing but a sense of loss, which is overwhelming, overpowering, all consuming.

The rage dies out, and Forrest steadies himself with the bar.

His fingers curl around the edges, as he clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes tightly shut, before he draws in a deep breath to steady himself; when he reopens his eyes, they are blurred, and even when blinks harshly they refuse to clear.

Little does he know that Jack watched on, in a mix of both fear and concern, as he saw Forrest tear the bar apart; any attempts to intervene would be futile, for Forrest was, and always would be, larger than Jack, stronger than Jack, deadlier than Jack.

The youngest Bondurant brother didn't know what was more frightening; the fact that Forrest was so enrapt in his rage that he barely even noticed when he broke a chair, when his knuckles connected fiercely with various immovable objects, when he smashed more breakables to the floor, or by the fact that, throughout it all, Forrest still wore that menacingly impassive expression on his features.

Jack had never seen Forrest fall apart like that, he was sure that no one had.

Sure, he had seen Forrest beat men to a pulp, but these weren't men, these were inanimate objects that Forrest tore at, swore at, cursed at, and threw all of his frustration and anger at.

* * *

When Howard returns, it is exactly how Forrest expected; he returns without Maggie.

Forrest isn't mad, he finds that he doesn't have it in him to be furious, or even frustrated, and his eyes are firmly fixed on his drink as he hears Howard stomp slowly up the front stairs of the Station.

The eldest Bondurant brother staggers inside, and Forrest barely spares him a glance.

Forrest doesn't need to look to know, to have his fears confirmed – that Maggie has indeed gone away, for good – because he knows that Howard is without Maggie; he can feel it, sense it, hear it in the sluggishness and the heaviness of Howard's footsteps, and in the low grumble of his voice as he struggles to find the words to tell Forrest that he also let Maggie get away.

"S'alright, Howard." Forrest murmurs, his words slightly slurred.

"No, it ain't alright, Forrest." Howard disagrees, because none of this is.

Forrest is hunched over, his hands tightly grip the edge of the bar – as though this is the only thing supporting him up, this is the only thing holding him together, preventing the pieces from shattering – and as Howard steps closer, he sees the blood that stains his brother's bare knuckles.

There is an edge to Howard's word, which Forrest hadn't expected to find in Howard; it is verging on hysteria, panic and fear, and he almost sounds distraught as he says the next string of slow words that only reaffirm Forrest's concerns, "It ain't alright, Forrest. No, it ain't goddamn alright, it ain't ever gonna be alright."

Forrest nods slowly, before he asks calmly, "What's happened, Howard?" he knows that something has happened, something bad and irreversible, because his brother, Howard Bondurant, the brute of the brother's, doesn't do this.

Forrest turns his head slightly; he sees that Howard is soaked through to the skin from the rain, and that he wears a distraught expression on his features. Howard brother barely seems to notice the damage surrounding them, head lowered, as though he is hanging it in shame.

Howard doesn't exhibit his emotions like this, freely and carelessly, for all to see – none of them do, except Jack – and he doesn't have these feelings, these vulnerabilities, these weaknesses, not since he got back from the war.

"Howard." Forrest reminds his brother that he spoke, that he's anxiously awaiting an answer, but Howard is too enrapt with his own thoughts to pay any sort of acknowledgment to Forrest.

Howard moves with shaky, unsteady movements, as he raises his hand to remove the hat from his head. He starts to fidget with the frayed ends of it, just how he has always done – when he gets nervous, worked up, caught up, consumed by guilt or self-loathing – and he starts to pace, frantically back and forth, all the while he fidgets with the frayed ends of his drenched hat.

"That blood on your hands, Howard?" Forrest asks, he hopes that it isn't.

The middle Bondurant brother isn't simply mildly concerned any more, he is beyond bothered, he is stricken by a sickening feeling, a sharp and tight twist in his gut, that tells him that this isn't good, that something sinister has occurred, and he is silently fretting over just what it may be.

Howard stops pacing, and pinches the bridge of his nose tightly, as he squeezes his eyes shut harshly, and says the woeful words that Forrest has been dreading, "It's Maggie's." he croaks out.

Forrest doesn't move, not from where he is standing, for his feet feel as though they are chained to the floor beneath him, and his entire body is weighed down heavily with invisible burdens of guilt and of love.

He turns to face Howard slowly, to watch him closely, intently, worriedly.

"Is she...uh..." Forrest murmurs quietly, slowly, he has great difficulty in getting the words out. His attempts to appear collected and composed fails dismally, for he is certain that the fear the he feels, and the heart wrenching hurt, is evident in the way that his words waver, ever so slightly, almost unnoticeably but not quite as unnoticeable as he would like. "Is she hurt?"

Howard drops his hand from his face, wincing as he says the next words, "I'm sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry, Forrest." he opens his eyes, to cautiously watch Forrest, while he awaits his reaction, while he contemplates just how he is going to word this.

"Goddammit!" the eldest Bondurant brother curses.

Thunder strikes loudly above, the rain continues to bucket down, but that doesn't drown out the sound of Howard's profanities; Forrest only catches one or two, for he can't stop hearing Maggie's voice in his head, sweet and soft, angry and broken, and he barely hears Howard as he carries about in his rage.

"Goddammit!" Howard sighs. "It ain't fair, Forrest, it ain't fuckin' fair."

"It's life, Howard." Forrest reminds him lifelessly. "It ain't ever fair."

Howard's attempts to quell his own anger fail, and Forrest is left with the burden, but he can't bear it just yet, he has to know, has to hear it, has to have his worst fears denied and not confirmed.

"Howard." Forrest says slowly, a deadly and menacing pace that is usually accompanied by a threat or two, but there are no threats, only concealed pleas, a man begging to know more about what fate has befallen the only women he has ever loved, "What…uh…is Maggie...hurt?" he manages, pathetically, because he can't form the proper words in a proper sentence.

"There was an accident." Howard says, as he winces again at the words, at the recollection of such a vivid event, and there is sadness in his eyes that Forrest can't recall having seen in such a long time, that it takes him by surprise. "An' I-I found her truck," he stammers, as he roughly brushes a hand through his dampened, matted hair. "An' she wasn't—I couldn't—she's real bad, Forrest."

Forrest lets out a small sound, a cross between a sigh and a small whimper, and he can feel the bile rising in the back of his throat as he shakes his head slowly. Howard's chest heaves heavily, tears brim and burn in his eyes, as he calls out brokenly to his broken brother, "I'm sorry, Forrest."

Forrest refuses to respond, just how he refuses to properly process the words, just how he refuses to comprehend them, to believe them, to accept them. So how in the hell is he supposed to respond to them? He can't

It can't be. It won't be. He won't let it be.

"She's real bad." Howard repeats.

It is in this moment now that Forrest's world stops altogether, it ceases entirely, and he knows that there is no living without her, no being without her, he can barely breathe without her.

Forrest knows, before Howard even says the words, that his Maggie has left this world, a world that ceases to capture his attention, a world that will no longer continue to exist, as it did when she was in it.

"An' they say that—the doc said that there…there ain't nothin'…they can't tell if she's OK until she wakes." Howard stammers, and these words are worse than a harsh blow to the stomach, a jagged knife to the throat, and a dozen bullets to the body.

Howard approaches his brother slowly, and places a wary hand on his shoulder; Forrest immediately tenses at the sudden contact, but Howard is ignorant to this as he continues on slowly, ruefully, regretfully, "You need to come into town, Forrest, an' to the hospital."

Forrest purses his lips together tightly, forces himself to not say a word, to not make a single sound of agony, and he knows that it won't last, but it will do for now. Forrest appears as though he is in actual physical pain, Howard sees this as he slowly looks at his brother, and it is as though Forrest is struggling with something unspoken.

This is unlike the Howard that Forrest knows, and now it appears as though their roles are reversed; for Forrest is the one who is now seething with indescribable despair and rage, while Howard is uncharacteristically calm and impassive.

"You need to get to the hospital, Forrest." Howard repeats.

"You need to get your hand off me, Howard." Forrest snarls

"Forrest." Howard says, he is almost pleading. "You need to—"

"You need to get your hand off me, Howard!" he shouts, turns, and briskly brushes Howard's hand from his shoulder.

Forrest shakes his head, because the idea of a world without Maggie Beauford in it is unfathomable, "There ain't been no accident." he disagrees, and Howard looks upon him pitifully.

Forrest doesn't want to believe that such a thing could happen, not after the way that things abruptly ended between the two of them, and he simply refuses to believe it. "Why are you lyin' to me, Howard?" he asks his brother, and Howard is baffled. "Why would you lie to me?"

"I ain't lyin' to you," Howard promises. "I ain't got no goddamn reason to lie to you."

"You're tellin' me…that you ain't got no reason to lie to me? Not a single damn reason?" Forrest questions and Howard confirms this with a curt nod. "Well, then, do you care to tell me just what the fuck has been goin' on in this house, these past few days, huh? I ain't deaf, Howard, or dumb, an' I sure as hell ain't blind."

Howard sighs. "I ain't going to stand 'round here an' fight with you, Forrest, not when—"

"I asked you a question." Forrest grinds out, through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw.

"An' I ain't gonna answer it," Howard replies defiantly. "Now ain't the time Forrest."

"I asked you a question." Forrest repeats, as he turns to face Howard completely.

There is a feral look to his eyes; Howard notices this as he says, "Now ain't the goddamn time, Forrest!"

"Answer the question, Howard." Forrest demands.

"Why ain't you goddamn listening, Forrest? Now ain't the time for this. She ain't good, Forrest, she's real bad. An' when she wakes, she's goin' to need you, so now ain't the time for this shit." Howard states, without sharpness and instead with sadness, and only then do the words finally sink in for Forrest.

His expression changes so quickly, to that of disbelief, to a grimace of pain, to an impassive look of denial, and so it continues. When it stops, Howard almost wishes that it hadn't; because the remaining expression is that of a grimace, a painful countenance, that Howard nearly cringes away from.

As the words truly sink in, Forrest's face falls; the anger that he feels, towards himself and his own heedless actions, is quick to fade from his expression, and the feral edge to his eyes is quick to disperse.

Howard watches Forrest walk out onto the verandah, and he just keeps walking; straight out into the pouring rain, underneath the thunderous skies that crackle with lightning and Howard knows that there is no stopping Forrest or no bringing him back, not when she isn't coming back.

In is in this moment now, as he pushes forward, ignoring the rain that hammers down harshly and the god awful ache he feels in his chest as he walks over to the car, that Forrest Bondurant knows that he will cease to exist if he is damned to this world without Maggie Beauford.

* * *

On the way into town, they pass her car.

Howard resolutely keeps his eyes on the road ahead, while Forrest's eyes are firmly glued to the car; even though he didn't witness it, his mind continues to torture him by replaying what it could have been like.

When Forrest finds Maggie, it isn't how or where he thought he would; he foolishly, and naively, thought that he would find her beside him in bed one morning, and that it would have all been just a dream, but he doesn't find her like that.

Forrest finds Maggie, beaten and battered and barely breathing, in a hospital bed in town.

* * *

It is Doctor John who greets them upon their arrival.

And here Howard was, foolishly thinking that it couldn't get any worse.

"Howard." Doctor John nods towards the eldest Bondurant brother, before he turns to acknowledge the middle brother, "Forrest." he nods before he addresses his next question to Howard, the one that he had dealt with before, in regards to Miss Beauford, "How you boys doin'?

"Ain't never been better, John." Forrest remarks dryly, to which the Doctor simply nods understandingly.

He understands the anger that they are experiencing, and he also understands their need to direct it somewhere, at someone, and although he has never personally experienced the wrath of the Bondurant brother's, he has heard enough to know to stop the attempts at small talk there, considering the nature of the situation, and he doesn't wish to provoke either brother.

Howard, with his notorious temper, would seem the more likely candidate, but with the way that Forrest is silently brooding, with a piercing gray glare that cuts straight through him, the Doctor is more inclined to believe that Forrest would be the one to snap first.

"How is she?" Howard asks, because it is killing him not knowing, and he knows that it is killing Forrest also, he can see that in the way that his eyes are focused firmly on the door that the Doctor had stepped out of.

"She's lucky, but—" The Doctor starts, but Forrest cuts across him sharply.

"Lucky?" he echoes the word, in horrified disbelief at the inconsiderate use of such a word.

"Well, yes, she—" Doctor John starts again, but his attempts are futile.

Forrest is harsh, and sharp, and unnecessarily callous, "_Lucky_? An' what, exactly, is she lucky for? Tell me, Doc, is she lucky that she hit a tree, an' not another car? She lucky she broke some ribs, an' not all of them?" he doesn't give the Doctor a chance to interject, to answer, for he continuous forward, not waiting for a response, "An' is she lucky that she hit her head so hard that she ain't awake yet? Tell me, Jonathon, do you think she looks lucky? 'Cause I saw her, an' she ain't look lucky to me."

Forrest had caught sight of her, when the Doctor had stepped out into the hallway to greet them, and he had saw the bruises that marked her fair skin, the cuts, the sickly paleness that tinged her skin.

Nurses that pass by spare concerned glances, as they hurry past the infamously violent Bondurant brother's, and they don't dare stare for too long, for they can only imagine what could occur if Forrest, in all his uncontrollable rage and in his inconsolable state, caught them gawking.

"Considerin' how bad it could have been, Forrest, she is lucky." Doctor John declares.

"How bad...how bad it _could_ have been?" Forrest echoes, but the Doctor doesn't shift uncomfortably or fearfully, as most would underneath this Bondurant brother's steely and unwavering stare. "_Could_ have been? Take a look, Jonathan, look past that door an' look at the patient in there, 'cause that ain't what lucky looks like."

"Forrest." The Doctor sighs softly. "I understand that you're angry, but that won't help."

Forrest blinks, before he wets his lips, and asks, somewhat sharply and dryly, "You understand, do you? An' just what do you understand?"

"I understand that you're angry, Forrest."

"You keep sayin' that - that you understand – but I don't think you do." Forrest disagrees disdainfully, he practically sneers the next few string of words, "If you understood…then you would think before you spoke…but you don't, you didn't, an' you keep sayin' she is lucky, but she don't look it, not me to."

Doctor John's brows are knitted together, but he otherwise remains seemingly unaffected by Forrest's volatile display of hostility; he isn't one to engage in an argument, let alone a fistfight.

"It ain't take a doctor to see that," Forrest states sourly, before he asks, "Do it, Howard?"

"I found her Forrest." Howard says softly.

Forrest hadn't thought about this, about how it would have been for Howard, to have to find her like that, battered and bleeding on the side of the road, car mangled into a tree, and he almost stops in his tirade; almost, because then he thinks about Maggie, and he thinks about how unlucky she is, how unlucky he made her by falling in love with her, and he can't stop himself.

"He's right, Forrest." Howard tells him, and Forrest wants to wipe that smug look from the Doctor's face.

"Somethin' funny?" Forrest asks, ignoring Howard completely, and he musters all the venom that he can for the new few words, "Does somethin' amuse you?" he questions, sounding as deadly as he looks, and the Doctor doesn't appear to be all that bothered by the display of rage.

"He ain't smilin', Forrest, an' he sure as hell ain't laughin'." Howard interjects, and steps between the two, his back towards the Doctor and his disapproving features face Forrest. "He ain't wrong though, Forrest. I found her." he says sorrowfully. "An' I think she's lucky," he adds, and Forrest shoots him a lethal look, "To be alive. That's all."

"Her back was bent on a bad angle," The Doctor tells Howard softly, as Forrest brushes past his older brother brusquely, before he opens the door to Maggie's room and steps inside. "This was caused by the harsh impact. What we're more concerned for, though, is her brain. It is possible that she sustained a minor or major concussion, this explains why she hasn't woken, or it could be more severe."

"Meanin' what?"

"Meaning that there is a chance that she won't wake up."

* * *

Forrest wakes, with a feeling of impending doom weighing heavily down upon him.

He inhales sharply as he wakes, as though he is a drowning man, a dying man attempting to catch a last breath, and a wave of nausea hits him, as he reflects upon his dream, the one where Maggie never woke up, but he forces himself to sit up straighter, and to breathe deeply, inhale and exhale to keep the sickness down.

Forrest scans the darkness before him intently, as he searches for what he needs to see, what he has to see, who he longs to see. He needs to know that it was just a dream, nothing more, that it was of no significant, that it held no truth to it, for it felt so surreal that he cannot be certain.

As his eyes adjust to the darkness, they fall upon a pale figure, enclosed by pastel hospital sheets, and he silently scolds himself for falling asleep, when they could wake at any given moment.

The ache that he had dreamt of, the one so surreal and strong in his chest that it almost caused him to be ill, returns once more as he wonders whether or not that was indeed a dream, a horrific dream but a dream nonetheless, or if it was indeed reality.

Forrest stands slowly, his heart pounding loudly in his ears as he moves hastily, but silently, towards the edge of the bad. He watches, waits, and sighs inwardly when he sees her chest rises slowly, before it falls just as softly, and a sense of relief floods throughout him.

That sense of relief is only momentary though, for a darker feeling overwhelms him, that same feeling of impending doom that he had felt when he had awoken moments earlier, and he can't shake the sinister feeling, even as he looks down upon her and sees her breathing softly.

He returns to his chair, and breathes another silent sigh of relief. What he dreamt of, that wasn't reality, and he can't recall ever being more thankful than he is now.

As he watches her, from across the hospital room, while the oil candle flickers in the corner by her bedside – highlighting the countless lacerations that are littered across her pale skin – and the rain thrashes down harshly outside, beating down against the rooftop, he decides to move closer.

He brings it closer to the bedside, and once there he sits down again, and watches over her worriedly, while Howard paces back and forth frantically outside of the hospital room, and Jack waits patiently, and quietly, with his eldest brother.

Howard had gone back, for Jack, despite Forrest's wishes for him not to.

There are countless lacerations littered across Maggie's pale skin, Forrest notices this as he examines her. There is a dark bruise forming underneath her right eye, numerous scratches, varying in sizes, scattered across her face – from her cheek, to her forehead – and there is sunken look to her cheeks, an unhealthiness, that has Forrest fretting even more for her.

All of this severely bothers Forrest, who reaches out, almost tentatively – even though he has never been tentative in his entire life – to touch her right hand, which is wrapped with tightly with fresh bandages, and he knows that this wound isn't the result of the accident, it was from the jam jar, earlier that day, and he is silently aghast at how such unanticipated events are so quick to unravel.

_Leave me alone, Forrest_, those were the last words that she said to him. He gently holds her hand in his, even though he has no right to, and his eyes never stray from her bruised and broken features, even though she wouldn't want him watching her so.

None of that matters though, not now, not after this, all that matters to Forrest right now, here in this moment, is that she is alive. Even though she is severely damaged, bruised and broken and battered beyond imaginable, she is still alive.

The doctor was exceptionally vague, and exceptionally unhelpful, all he said that was they wouldn't know more until she woke. Forrest knew it was bad, he could tell by just looking at her, and he knew that he wasn't going to leave her, not how she left him, and he was going to help her, just how she always helped him, even when he wasn't deserving of it.

* * *

**A/N:** I had amazing things planned for this emotional chapter, and then this happened.

I am actually that disappointed and unhappy with it that, if I am still feeling this uneasy in the morning, I will be removing it and rewriting it. I wanted to give you guys something awesome, because you are all so lovely, and I didn't want to keep you all waiting, but I just don't like this. At all. It's not what I wanted it to be.

It is almost 1:00am, over here in Australia, and I am beyond the point of exhaustion, thanks to a draining week, but I pushed myself to write and post this so that I wouldn't leave you all hanging.

Thanks to each and every one of you lovely readers.

**X**

**P.s** I am almost certain that there are spelling errors, and if there are any variations in plot or contradictions in scenes (particularly in the scene with Howard&Forrest) let me know, because I initially wrote two different versions of that scene and when I merged them together (because I thought they were too awesome to be a part) I may have forgotten to edit some minor details.


	16. Shaking Through My Skull

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy

One day passes.

One dreadful, dreary, unbearable day passes.

Forrest doesn't move, doesn't exist, because he simply can't be without Maggie Beauford. One day passes – one single, slow, rainy day – and yet, for Forrest, it feels like days are gone, weeks have flown by, months merged together, and it is in that single day, that short space of time, that Forrest realizes he can never be without Maggie.

Maggie is yet to wake.

He watches over her, silently and patiently, and adamantly refuses to move from his post at her bedside, because he'd never forgive himself if something else happened to her, if something horrible happened and he wasn't there to help her.

Howard hovers.

He hangs around outside, incessantly pacing backwards and forth, striding silently up and down the hallway, but he never dares to venture inside the hospital room where Maggie rests; he blames himself – he always does – but Forrest can't spare a thought for that right now, he can't tend to that matter, not when there are more pressing matters at hand.

Forrest can't deal with Howard.

He can't leave Maggie's bedside, for he fears of what fate may befall her in his absence.

"Forrest." Doctor John addresses him cordially, to Forrest's surprise, for there had been much animosity between them earlier. "We need to talk about Miss Beauford." he tells Forrest, who listens but refuses to believe, who won't move his eyes away from Maggie's face – not for a single second – and who won't speak, even when spoken to.

Howard slumps against the doorframe; he is fighting, and failing, to keep his eyes as far away from Maggie's features as is possible, but then his eyes catch upon her fiery locks and he knows that he has failed, that he is doomed, for his eyes are drawn to each scratch, each unhealed wound, and each bruise.

"I think we need to discuss what might happen if she wakes." Doctor John declares, and Howard is surprised by the braveness of this man, for broaching such a sensitive subject with Forrest present.

Forrest clears his throat, immediately catching Howard's attention, before he says the first words that he has said all day, the first words that he has said since he sat down by her bedside, and Howard is surprised to see that Forrest is evening paying attention.

"_When_ she wakes up…" Forrest murmurs, a small frown present on his features, and he doesn't appear as though he is struggling with the restrains on his temper. "I think the word you're lookin' for, John, is _when_…not _if_."

Forrest is always the passive on, the unreadable on, the calm and collected one, and these characteristics often cause many to be mistaken about the middle Bondurant brother, to assume that he is much too impassive to be any sort of a threat, but they are sorely mistaken.

It is these characteristics, the slow and steadiness of his steps, the precision, the methodical and almost mechanical movements, and the collected composure that make Forrest Bondurant all the more dangerous.

"When she wakes," Doctor John repeats, solely for the sake of appeasing Forrest, and he is undeterred by the middle Bondurant's sharp interjection. "There is a possibility that she may be different."

"Different?" Howard echoes the word, frowning fiercely as he does, and he barely manages to drag his eyes away from Maggie in time to meet the sad eyes of the doctor. "How?"

Forrest turns his head a fraction towards the doctor, equally intrigued and irritated by the ambiguity of the statement, but he only turns his head a fraction, so as to not lose sight of Maggie, so as to give too much away, and so to stop himself from outright glaring at the doctor.

"Because she hasn't woken yet," Doctor John continues, and Forrest fights the urge to choke him for stating the obvious; but he suppresses that urge, and instead focus on the soft lines of Maggie's face that are highlighted by the oil candle in the corner. "There's a chance that she sustained a serious brain injury."

Forrest falters, noticeably enough that Howard catches sight of it but says nothing, and Howard knows that he has to be the one to pose the questions, for Forrest isn't able to process these thoughts properly; he refuses to, so Howard assumes the burden.

"How serious?" Howard questions quietly, voice barely audible over the bucketing rain outside.

"Brain injuries can change the way a person thinks, acts, feels, and even the way they move." The Doctor declares, and Forrest automatically assumes the worst, assumes that she'll think different, act different, move different, but the worst will be that she will _feel_ different.

Howard nods, barely suppresses the loathing that he feels towards himself, the hatred that he can feel in his bones, the disgust, despair, and forces himself to persevere. "How will we know?"

"We won't." Doctor John briefly looks upon Maggie, before turning to face Howard, almost with an apology in his eyes. "We won't know till' she wakes."

"What…what did…when you said it changes…?" Howard asks, because Forrest can't.

"Miss Beauford could be affected by nausea, headaches or she could have difficulty concentratin' or find trouble sleepin', but the more severe side effects of head trauma are changes in personality – such as increased anger or anxiety – or memory loss, vision problems, or depression."

Forrest heard it before Howard did; he heard those two words, the words that he feared, words that he didn't wish to hear, words that could haunt him, cause uproar and alter his entire life if they came to be true.

Memory loss.

"Uh…mmm…" Forrest starts to say, his voice a low, unheard, useless murmur.

Doctor John's eyes snap towards Forrest immediately, focusing on the cloudy grey eyes and not the crease of a frown on his usually emotionless features; this frown, this small sign, is the only indicator that Forrest is feeling something, anything, and it is enough to prompt Howard to straighten up from where he was previously slumped against the door frame.

"You…uh…you said…memory loss?" Forrest questions, this is the first time that he has directly addressed Doctor John since their arrival and their initial altercation, and he turns his head a further fraction to face the doctor.

John still stands by the end of Maggie's bed, eyes flickering between the two of them – between Miss Beauford's broken face, and Forrest's impassive one – before he breaks the awful silence with words that he knows that neither Forrest nor Howard will wish to hear.

"It is a possibility, Forrest."

"But…uh…not...uh...not a…certainty…" Forrest mutters, and the uncertainty to his words indicates that this is more a question than it is a solid statement, for Forrest's words lack their confidence, and, the longer that John twists the words around in his mind the more that they sound like a plea.

"No," Doctor John starts to say, and that seems to be all that Forrest needs to hear, that all he needs is that confirmation, that assurance, but John can't give that to him, not when, in all likelihood, Miss Beauford will have, unfortunately, sustained some damage to her brain, whether that damage is severe or not is undeterminable at the present. "It's not a certainty, but it _is_ a possibility."

"How possible?" Howard asks apprehensively, the previous anger that he had felt has since diminished, leaving nothing but doubt and despair in its place to further pain him.

"It's a risk, Howard." The Doctor says.

"But not a certain risk." Howard counters.

"None of this is certain, Howard." Doctor John explains, a small, sad sigh escaping his lips. "She could wake up perfectly fine, or she could wake up with no recollection of the last year of her life – perhaps even the last five years – an' I don't mean to be harsh, boys, but I'm not goin' to sugarcoat it; it could be serious."

"But not certain." Howard nods, as though agreeing with his own words, agreeing with his own thoughts; it as though he hasn't heard a single word that the doctor has spoken in the last few moments.

"No, not certain." Doctor John concedes. "But there is bound to be some damage."

"An' why's that?"

"Maggie was in a serious accident, Howard." The Doctor says, sounding just as serious as he looks. "You know. You saw it." he adds, and Howard nearly shudders at the thought, at the memories that resurface and sting, memories that he shall always carry with him. "You need only look at the damage done to see how serious it was. She sustained serious facial injuries, there are countless gashes and bruises across her body, she fractured ribs upon impact, an' there was substantial damage done to her legs an' feet."

Howard frowns.

He cannot comprehend why her feet, of all things, would have sustained substantial damage, but then he remembers, he remembers the exact way that the car was mangled, the way that her body was bent in an odd shape, the way he couldn't quite move her, couldn't help her, couldn't rescue her, at first.

"When she wakes, she won't be the same." Doctor John solemnly declares, sparing a glance towards Forrest, whose eyes are firmly fixed on the patient who looks almost peaceful in her state of unconsciousness.

Forrest can't feel a thing, but he can hear – despite his best attempts to block out the sound of such sorrowful news – and he can see – despite attempting to blur out all images surrounding, including the sight of Maggie – and he knows that this isn't good, he knows that it's bad, knows that it's irreversible and unchangeable, and he also knows that he isn't going anywhere.

"She can't be how she was before." Doctor John gravely announces, to which he receives only silence and brief looks of blankness from both of the Bondurant brother's. "That is the only certainty. I'm sorry, boys."

Doctor John detests delivering such devastating news, but it has to be done, the words have to be said, have to be explained, in order for them to properly comprehend the extent of the damage and to deliberate over what happens next.

"I'll leave you boys be," Doctor John states, as he slowly starts to move towards the door, glancing between the two Bondurant brother's before settling on Howard. "I understand that there's a lot of talkin' to be done, decisions have to be made, an' I'm sure you'd want to discuss it in private."

They don't talk.

Doctor John departs, Howard hovers, and Forrest fixes his eyes on Maggie's features; both remain silent, not by choice but because they can't voice their concerns, can't discuss any decisions that need to be made, because doing so would only confirm the worst, and neither is willing to accept John's words.

"Be out here if you need me, Forrest." Howard grumbles, even though he knows that Forrest won't need him, not after he failed Forrest yet again, and not when all Forrest needs is Maggie.

Forrest grunts in response, because his words will fail him, they always seem to, and there really is nothing to say. Maggie is damaged, Forrest concedes, but she was damaged prior to this awful twist of fate and Forrest cared for her regardless.

Maggie is scarred, but she hasn't seen half of Forrest's scar; he has scars that will never heal, scars that may fade but will forever mark the skin, the mind, the heart, and the memory of the body will not allow for Forrest to forget the origin of the scars, but he doesn't wish to forget.

In Forrest's mind, wounds may weaken you but scars will strengthen you; scars are reminders, reminders of sufferings, sufferings you endured, they are reminders of forgotten strength and of your struggle.

* * *

Howard starts to pace.

Awful thoughts plague his mind as he strides back and forth restlessly, he is undoubtedly drawing attention to himself and his erratic ways but he simply cannot contain his anxiety, and he also cannot help but closes his eyes and let his thoughts draw him to his sister Emmy.

"You goin' to teach me how to drive, Howard?"

Howard spins around, frightened by the sound of a sweet voice that he hasn't heard in years, he continues to search for the source of the sound, alarming nearby nurses in the processes, as he collapse down on a bench outside of the hospital room and puts his head in his hands.

He begins to tear at his hair as that day comes back in flashes.

"You goin' to teach me how to drive, Howard?" Emmy asked, and Howard could just picture her now; her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised expectantly, and golden hair flowing all around her as the wind howled around the two of them.

Howard couldn't see her; his hat was tilted down, it concealed his bloodshot eyes from the rays of sunlight that he only wanted his body to soak, for he was too hung over to want to see that blinding ball of light, but Emmy wasn't one to give up easily; she wouldn't have been a true Bondurant if she did.

She stood over Howard, arms folded instead of on her hips, and she was still staring down at him with that same expression of fond exasperation. Howard was strewn across the dirt and grass, arms behind his head, one leg crossed over the other, and with a blade of grass between his lips.

His hair was in matted curls, he had let his stubble grow out again, and she knew he had been drinking; she could smell it on him, she didn't need to look into his bloodshot eyes to have the truth confirmed.

"Or am I goin' to have to ask daddy?" she asked.

Howard smiled at that.

Emmy saw this, the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips and turned them upwards, and she couldn't help herself from kicking Howard in the leg in a display of frustration. "Am I goin' to have to ask daddy to teach me?" she asked again, voice firmer, fonder, and she couldn't help from mirroring Howard's smile.

"That a threat?" Howard asked, lips still turned up in amusement; he didn't smile often, but Emmy had always had that effect on him, she was always able to make the best out of the worst, and he admired that about her.

"I'm _goin'_ to ask daddy." she warned.

Howard laughed.

It started as a low rumble, a chuckle in the back of his throat, but then he couldn't contain himself; it turned into a husky, hearty laugh that was almost contagious, for Emmy almost started laughing along with Howard until she realized what he was laughing at.

He was laughing at her.

"Howard." she whined, kicking him in the leg once again, but he barely felt her boot as it connected with his leg; he was too busy laughing at her, laughing at the very idea of their daddy teaching her to driver.

Their daddy was many things, but a good driver he was not; while Howard supposed that he wasn't much better than their daddy, he was still better, and he would rather be the one to teach her.

Although heir daddy was a good daddy, he had the shakes of an alcoholic and could barely hold his liquor right; Howard shuddered at the idea of him getting behind the steering wheel with Emmy in the car.

"I'll go ask daddy." Emmy declared, and he could just imagine the pout on her pretty face; this caused him to laugh, and he was surprised that she wasn't laughing, since she always was, so he decided that he ought to do the right thing and change that.

"You threatenin' me?" Howard asked, smiling under the brim of his hat.

"I'll ask him.

"Are you threatenin' me?"

"I ain't kiddin', Howard."

"You're threatenin' me."

"I'm threatenin' you, Howard Bondurant."

Howard slowly began to move; he picked his hat up, placed it back atop of his head, and sat up straighter, so as to get a better look at Emmy, and when he looked up at her he fixed a serious expression on his face.

"Are you threatenin' me?"

"I'm threatenin' you."

"That right?"

"That's right." Emmy declared

Howard carefully deliberated over his next movements; when he moved, he moved swiftly, quickly, and before Emmy could comprehend what was happening Howard had pulled her down to the grass where he proceeded to tickle her.

"Are you threatenin' me?" he asked, a small smile had returned back to his features.

Emmy squirmed madly in his arms, thrashed like a fish out of water, as Howard continued to tickle her. He wasn't often like this, wasn't often the smiling or laughing or playful, wasn't often talkative or approachable, and so Emmy appreciated this moments, cherished them while she had them, and she thought fondly on them later, later when Howard had reverted back to his ways of drinking and silently brooding.

"You threatenin' me?"

"No." Emmy laughed, she barely managed to voice the word beneath the sharp breaths that she was drawing in; she was always extremely ticklish, and Howard was the brother who took most advantage of that.

"I think you are."

"I'm not!" Emmy cried, tears of laughter brimming in her eyes as she struggled to evade the hold of her eldest brother. "I promise! I ain't threatenin' you, Howard, I wouldn't."

"You're threatenin' me."

"Howard, stop!" Emmy giggled, she finally caught Howard's speedy hands and held them tightly, pressing them against his chest as she started to sit up. "Enough! I said I'm sorry, Howard."

Howard smiled at her.

He couldn't help it.

It was Emmy; she was vibrant, infectious, maddeningly annoying, demanding and opinionated, but she was his younger sister, his family, he had to protect her, as he did each of his siblings – that was his job as the eldest child of the Bondurant family - and he'd do anything for her.

"Please, Howard." Emmy pleaded, and he knew that he'd teach her to drive, he knew before she even asked, because he would do anything for her. "Tell me you'll teach me how to drive?" she asked, and he nodded in response.

Emmy squealed in joy before she latched her arms around his neck, holding him close and hugging him tightly, and he held on just as tight, knowing that there was nothing that he would not do for her.

* * *

Maggie wakes.

She wakes to the faint sound of rain on a rooftop, the shuffle of feet not too far away, and the low murmur of voices. She struggles to sit up, and a small noise escapes her lips as she starts to prop herself up; her body aches, she hasn't even managed to open her eyes just yet, and her head is thudding as though a drum beats inside of it.

"Oh." she winces, her arms shake and tremble uncontrollably as she continues to try to prop her body up, and this small sound, this pained noise, brings about a hush, for the footsteps fall silent and the voices cease, but the pitter patter of rain persists regardless.

A voice is by her bedside, it soothes her and hushes her, and coaxes her into lying back down; she can hear the voice call out to her, hear it whispering well wishes and humming her name, but she cannot respond, she is helpless, voiceless, and frightened.

"It's alright, Maggie…" The voice whispers. "You're alright."

Then the darkness consumes her once again, and Maggie is paralyzed with fear; for all her fears await her in the darkness, all her demons, all the ghosts that haunt her, and she is forced to face them all alone.

It is only then, once the darkness has consumed her completely, clouding her mind, claiming her body and soul, does she realize that the voice, the one that softly consoled her and sweetly soothed her, belonged to Forrest.

* * *

"Howard?"

Thoughts of Emmy plague Howard's mind, thoughts of Maggie drive him mad, and he is consumed by worries, doubts, fears, unspoken guilt that consumes him, and he craves a drink.

He needs one, he is itching for a drink, and his fingers twitch as he continues to pull harshly as his hair, and he can't seem to hear anything around him, can't hear anything but Emmy's soft voice and he can't see anything but Maggie's sweet face.

Howard is severely disappointed when he reopens his eyes and finds that he is not in Emmy's presence; instead, he is hunched over on the bench, hands entangled in his hair, and fighting both the burning sensation of tears brewing in his eyes and the feeling of sickness that washes over him

The thoughts are run rampant throughout his muddled mind, they cause chaos and bring him to the point of breaking; he knows that he has to do something, say something, before it's too late, before he despises himself even more.

"Howard?" Doctor John asks, a second time, for he was exiting the room of a different patient when he turned around to find a forlorn Howard.

Sadly, he is not surprised to see that the words have finally sunken in for Howard, who appears to be on the verge of illness as he drops his hands from his hair and then grips the edge of the bench tightly.

"May I help you, Howard?" he asks cordially, and Howard feels a tang of guilt at the manner in which he and Forrest had treated the Doctor earlier. He had been nothing but polite, cautious in a respectful manner, and courteous, yet they had been rude and abrupt and so far gone in their denial.

Doctor John can't help Howard, but there is a chance that he can help Maggie; there is no time for doubt, Howard seizes the opportunity. "It's Maggie."

"What is it, Howard?" Doctor John asks.

He is now concerned by the grave expression on Howard's features, the solemn sound of his words, and the overall appearance of the eldest Bondurant brother. "Howard, what is it? he asks again, his concern growing.

Howard spares a brief glance over his shoulder, towards the direction of Maggie's room, and Doctor John receives this message. Howard stands, and the two men walk further away from Forrest, further away from that silent room and the suppressed emotions that build and build.

"I ain't supposed to be sayin' nothin', because this ain't my business to tell," Howard starts, and he speaks in a hushed voice that is still audible over the pelting rain that is relentless on the rooftop. "But it's about the baby."

"What about the baby, Howard?" Doctor John asks softly, as he knows that this will indeed still be a sensitive issue for Miss Beauford and the Bondurant family. "Is there something that you're not sharing, Howard?"

"It's 'bout what happened—after the baby—but I shouldn't be sayin' these things, doc, this ain't my business to tell. I can't." Howard removes his hat, and begins to fidget with it, as he always does, and he plays with the frayed edges while he continues on. "I won't. I ain't goin' to betray her. I can't do it. She needs me, doc, an' I can't let her down."

"You're right, Howard." Doctor John concedes, to which Howard looks up, his earnest eyes are sincere and swirling with confusion. "She does need you. If it is in her best interests, then it needs to be told, Howard, because I'll find out sooner or later, an' in Miss Beauford's case I wouldn't want to find out later, not if it could be too late."

"She's my sister, doc." Howard declares, as he fixes his eyes on the hat in his hands, his calloused hands twist the material until it feels as though it may rip underneath the strength of his hold. "I let her down too many times in the past. I ain't goin' to do it again. She's my sister. Emmy is my sister an' I ain't goin' to hurt her again. I can't."

Howard doesn't hear his slip up, not until Doctor John softly points it out. "What happened to your sister Emmy was a shame, Howard." he says, and Howard stiffens at the mention of his younger sister's name.

"Why're you talkin' 'bout her?" Howard asks quietly, sounding every bit as deadly as Forrest had earlier when he was spitting slow words of disagreement and disgust at the doctor. "Why're you talkin' 'bout her? Huh? Why? Ain't nobody get to talk about her, doc."

Doctor John nods along in silent agreement, for he knows that time is irrelevant in regards to Emmy Bondurant; days, weeks, months could pass and Howard Bondurant will still be in silent mourning over her.

Years fly by, and yet Howard still can't bring himself to speak of her, to let other's speak of her, and the doctor believes that decades will pass by and still Howard will not forgive himself.

"Don't be talkin' 'bout her, doc." Howard warns. "Don't."

"Alright, Howard, I'm sorry." Doctor John says sincerely. "I'm sorry, an' I won't do it again."

Howard nods curtly, before he reluctantly proceeds to inform the doctor of Maggie's most recent behavior. "Maggie ain't been the same since she lost James."

"James?"

"That's what she named him."

Doctor John smiles briefly, a sad and sympathetic smile, before he asks, "An' what do you mean by 'she ain't been the same'? How was she before she lost James?"

Howard frowns. He feels as though he is betraying Maggie, exposing her, leaving her to fend for herself, and he is not comfortable with the idea of abandoning her; but he knows that John is right, that if it is in her best interests then it needs to be told.

"Before, she was…sad." Howard says, he doesn't divulge into the reasons why, because that isn't his story to tell, because how Maggie got pregnant is none of the doctor's concern, and he'll be damned if he ever speaks a word of that night. "She wasn't eatin', sleepin'…she stayed in bed all day…just lyin' there…starin' off into space…"

Howard doesn't confess how he slept by her bedside, how he kept a watchful eye on her throughout the dark of the night, and he doesn't tell the doctor just what was tormenting Maggie so. "Then there were days where she'd get up…an' I'd find her downstairs, makin' breakfast an' actin' like nothin' was wrong."

"An' when you say 'acting' you mean that there was actually something wrong? Something sinister that she wasn't sharing?" Doctor John questions.

Howard doesn't feel entirely comfortable with this anymore, so he shifts the focus away from what happened to traumatize Maggie so and instead onto a person whose absence played a part in Maggie's deterioration - even though she'd never say so in explicit words – and Howard always knew this to be so.

"She was upset over Forrest." Howard states, because it's the truth, because it's a sound and valid reason to explain such depressive behavior, and he knows that it can account for most of her behavior. "You saw him, doc. She thought he was dyin', or that he would be soon, an' that took a toll on her."

Doctor John nods in understanding, knowing full and well how the threat of death or of losing a loved one can test one and be taxing on their mental state. "How was she after she lost James?" he asks softly.

"She'd start cryin'…I tried to help her, but she…she…"

"Couldn't be comforted?" Doctor John suggests.

Towards the end, towards the time before Maggie left, she couldn't be comforted. She blamed herself, she was consumed by her guilt, her anger, her emotions, and Howard forces himself to focus on the present and not the painful past.

"Yea…an' she blamed herself. Right from the start, she did." Howard confesses, and cringes away from the painful recollections of Maggie blaming herself, hating herself, wishing that she was anyone else, and he sympathized with her on that level.

"It wasn't her fault, Howard, and it wasn't yours either." Doctor John announces. "You know that, don't you? There was nothin' that either of you could've done." he says, but Howard disagrees; he could have been better, he could have done better, and he could have not failed but he did and he faults himself for her pain.

Howard doesn't respond to that statement, instead he solemnly continues to tell the doctor more of about Maggie's erratic behavior. "She'd get real angry an' snappy…" he says, and he knows that this isn't the best choice of words but he has never been real good with words, not like Jack and his fancy words and his fancy clothes.

"I noticed the cuts on her hand." Doctor John declares. "How'd she get those, Howard?"

"She, uh, she was tryna open a jar an' it wouldn't budge…" Howard murmurs. He had heard this version of events from Jack, so he isn't entirely sure just how reliable they are, but he repeats the words to the doctor regardless. "It broke in her hand…cracked when she hit it on the edge of the bar."

"These are all consistent symptoms of postpartum depression." Doctor John announces.

Howard doesn't understand half of those words, they are technical babble that he doesn't care to know, all he cares to know is how Maggie is doing and whether or not the trauma of her past could harm her in the present.

John seems to understand this, and so he kindly rewords the statement. "Depression can occur after the loss of a child, an' what you've just described for me indicates that Maggie is suffering from this depression."

"Not good, is it?" Howard asks, even though he knows that it's not, knows that it won't be, that it hasn't been for some time now, and the signs were all there, all waiting to be discovered, but he was just too blind to see what was blatantly staring him in the face.

"No, Howard, it's not." The Doctor agrees. "Unfortunately, there is no specific cure. For most, all it takes is time an' talking for it to heal, but that's in an average case, and this is not an average case, Howard."

Howard knows what the Doctor will say, knows that this isn't, that it hasn't been good for days, weeks, months, and he fears that it is irreversible, fears that it is broken, unable to be repaired, but he has to fix it; for he was the one who broke it in the first place.

"Miss Beauford has suffered a great deal of trauma in such a dangerously short space of time." Doctor John declares, slowly and solemnly, almost as though he is giving a eulogy at a funeral, but Howard won't hear it, he can't. "There are no words to describe the agony of losing a child, an' if you add that pain with the fear of losing Forrest, of losing more family, then it is already a great deal of devastation to have to deal with. An' because of the trauma of the accident, an' the injuries, it could prove to be too much for Miss Beauford to handle."

Howard swallows before he speaks. His throat is thick with words he can't say, fears he can't voice, and he still doesn't wish to believe the woeful words that the doctor shares with him.

"Meanin' what?"

"Meanin' that she may not be able to handle it," Doctor John tells Howard. "An' it will be significantly worse if she wakes without the knowledge of it ever occurring. If that were to happen, then I fear for her mental state. If she doesn't remember, it could return an' overwhelm her to the point of mental exhaustion."

* * *

Maggie stirs.

Forrest is already alert, he anxiously awaits her awakening, and at the sign of seeing her stir he sits up straighter, reflexively leaning closer and readying himself to calm her as best as he can.

"Maggie?" he calls her name, sounding uncharacteristically soft as he does, and he is not only surprised by the sound of his own voice but he is surprised by the sight of the Maggie waking.

She opens her eyes slowly, they flutter open languidly as though she has woken from a most pleasant sleep in which she experienced delightful dreams, and he is surprised by the serenity surrounding her, the calm, the composure; there is no confusion, and as she sets her eyes on him there is a warmth inside of those baby blues that has been missing for months now.

"Forrest." Maggie murmurs his name softly, so quietly that he almost doesn't catch it. She moves to sit up, and he is swift in his movements; he hastily outstretches a hand, to halt her movements, and he suggests that she should take it slowly.

"I'm fine," Forrest." she reassures him.

Maggie is so relieved to see Forrest that she can't feel anything else but happiness, that she can't see anything else but Forrest, and she can't hear anything else but the low murmur of his almost inaudible answer.

"Uh…you…you…" Forrest trails off, for he is uncertain of where to begin, uncertain of what to say and how to go about saying it.

Forrest doesn't wish to cause her further pain and distress; he supposes that he ought to retrieve the doctor, but he is too entranced by her smile that he can't bring himself to move, can't bring himself to break this calm, this serenity, that she seems to so greatly enjoy.

"I'm here." Maggie says, as she starts to sit up in bed; her arms feel strangely weak, as she sits up, presses her back up against the back of the bed, and she barely seems to notice the bruises and wounds that mark her skin. "I know that I ain't supposed to be, but I am."

Forrest keeps his eyes locked on her eyes, her eyes which are clear for the first time in weeks, and he would be relieved to see that the old Maggie has returned if it weren't for the heavy sense of anxiety that weighs down upon him, a burden that makes him question each word, each pause, each movement, for he cannot be truly sure that this is his Maggie.

"I'm here, Forrest." Maggie declares, as she outstretches her hand and gestures for his; he hesitantly holds his out, and holds his hand tightly, a smile present on her lips, as she softly says, "I'm here for you. I'm stayin' for you."

Forrest is happy, indescribably so, to see that Maggie has woken, and yet he cannot full cherish that happiness, he cannot truly believe it, embrace it, revel in it, for he still has his concerns, doubts, worries, questions, that simply will not leave him be.

Maggie runs the pad of her thumb across Forrest's knuckles, a kind look in her eyes as she fondly looks upon him, "You look good, Forrest." she says and beams at him, like olds times, and he is too paralyzed to respond. "You look real good."

Maggie momentarily wonders why Forrest is so silent, so solemn, so deep in thought and concerned, and she wonders just why his brows furrowed into a frown at the sound of Maggie's words.

"What's the matter, Forrest?" Maggie questions, for Forrest had been watching her curiously, almost quizzically, but also with a degree of concern that she wasn't used to seeing in those steely eyes of his.

Maggie waits for a response, but when Forrest fails to form any words she follows his eyes, follows where they have fallen, where they are fixed upon, and _that_ is when she sees the cuts on her arms, the bruises, the marks that shouldn't be there, that marks can't be there, that _aren't_ there, and the bandage that is wound tightly around her hand.

She immediately retracts her hand from Forrest's hold, despite his best attempts to keep her hand in his hold, and she examines it closely, curious as to just how and why these wounds came to be; she is keenly wanting to know how these bandages came to be wrapped around her right hand.

"Forrest." Maggie says his name with such panic that he instinctively moves closer to protect her, to help her, to save her, but she will not be soothed by his presence now, not when her entire body is screaming out to her. "Forrest, what's goin' on?"

Forrest says nothing; instead he watches her, closely, intently, and he remains frustratingly silent. "What's goin' on, Forrest?" she questions, a second time, verging on hysteric as she feels tears swell up in her eyes.

It is then that the pain hits her, a blinding pain, with unknown origins, that strikes throughout her spine, which pierces her brain, which reminds her that entire body is bruised and beaten and aching, and it is then that her body feels incredibly heavy, weighed down, worn out and weakened, and she can't refrain from crying out in pain.

The pain is a horrid, harsh and harrowing sensation that is slowly claiming her, consuming her, and she cannot withstand such sharp stabs and such sudden jolts of pain. "Maggie, look at me." he commands, his voice is calming and cool but it cannot soothe her, the softness of his voice does nothing to ease the severity of the pain.

Maggie's hands start to flutter about; she examines the two of them closely, they tremble as she holds them, turning them slowly to see each side, each graze, each bandage that is tightly wound around her right hand, and she starts to panic.

"Forrest?" she turns to him, with such confusion, fear and panic, in her eyes that it causes his heart to lurch in his chest. She turns to him, seeking answers, seeking guidance, assistance, anything, and yet he can only give her silence.

He opens his mouth, parts his lips to attempt to help her, but his words fail him and he is left feeling as useless as he did before, when she left, when he watched her leave, when he _let_ her leave, and he wonders whether it would have been best had he not visited her at all, had he let her go completely and never bothered her again.

But then he erases that thought; because she needs him, Maggie _needs_ him, that much is evident in the sound of her words, in the confusion that swirls in her eyes, and he won't abandon her, he won't let her drown like he did before.

"Look at me, Maggie." Forrest says softly, his voice is enchanting; it draws her in slowly and almost captures her, but she stops herself, shakes away that sensation, and forces herself to focus on her confusion, on her fear, until she discovers the truth.

"What's goin' on, Forrest?" Maggie asks, she is begging to know, pleading, desperate and hurting, and he can't deny her, he has to tell her, has to help her, but right now all he wants is to just hold her.

Forrest reaches for her hand, but she promptly swats it away. "What's goin' on, Forrest?"

"Look at me, Maggie." he says, undeterred by her rejection as he outstretches his hand and reaches for hers once again; but she repeats the action, and he repeats his. "Look at me."

"Tell me." Maggie demands.

"Look at me." Forrest pleads.

"Tell me!" Maggie cries, causing a silence to befall Forrest. "Forrest Bondurant, you are goin' to tell me what is goin' on an' you are goin' to tell me this minute."

Doctor John is at the door, he must have been alerted by the sound of Maggie shouting, and he watches her closely, with concern and fear, but she is yet to notice him, just how she is yet to notice Howard as he stands by the Doctor's side.

"Tell me. Tell me, Forrest." Maggie says, and upon receiving only silence she stops speaking to Forrest and instead proceeds to start examining her skin for marks, bruises, indications of what has occurred, of what Forrest refuses to tell her, and she is shocked to see the awful marks that stain her pale skin.

Maggie pulls back the sheets abruptly; she is in a hospital gown, but that can't be right, surely that isn't right; it's wrong, this is merely a dream, a vivid hallucination, for there is no reason for her to be in hospital.

"You need to calm down, Maggie." Forrest states, as he tries to take a hold of her hands, as he tries to stop them from frantically fidgeting, from fluttering around her like a hummingbird, and her attempts to pull her hands out of his hold fail for he has always been stronger than her.

"That ain't what I need, Forrest." Maggie declares distressfully.

Forrest respond by placing his hand upon her face, as he attempts to get her to look at him, to look within his eyes, to watch him, so that he may be able to get her to calm down. "You need to calm down, Maggie."

"No, Forrest, that ain't what I need." she sadly disagrees. "What I need is you, Forrest, all I need is you, an' right now what I need from you is for you to start tellin' me the truth."

"Alright…" Forrest quietly concedes, because he can't cause her pain, can't cause her further distress, not when she is hurting, aching, broken. Her eyes flicker between his frantically, madly, desperately searching for answers. "Alright, I'll tell you."

"Maybe it's best if I do." Doctor John says as he steps forward, bringing a hushed silenced to the room with him as he does, and Maggie's eyes flicker to his face but she otherwise remains frozen.

John can see Forrest out of the corner of his eye; he drops his hand from Maggie's face and reaffirms his hold on her hand, and he barely acknowledges the doctor, for he doesn't dare to lift his eyes from her face.

The look in Maggie's reminds the doctor of an animal in the headlights, and he knows that he must break the news gently to her. "Miss Beauford," The doctor regards her cordially. "My name is John, an' I am your doctor."

"Doctor?" Maggie frowns, repeating the word as though it is foreign; the words don't feel right in her mouth, they don't sound right in her ears. "I don't need a doctor." she reassures him, but he just smiles sadly.

"I'm afraid you do, Miss Beauford." Doctor John ruefully replies. "You're in hospital, Maggie, an' you have been for a day now."

"I know that I'm in the hospital." Maggie states, much to Forrest's relief; he had feared that she had forgotten it all, that she had forgotten him, and how he is relieved to learn otherwise.

"Good." The Doctor says, smiling genuinely at Maggie as he inches closer, pushing his glasses up his narrow nose as he reaches the end of her bed.

Maggie holds Forrest's hand so tightly that her knuckles turn white; he looks tired, she notices this as she turns to face him, and weary, but little does she know that he looks lively compared to her pale worn features.

"Do you remember how you got here?" Doctor John asks.

Maggie answers with a nod, as she reluctantly draws her eyes away from Forrest's features and turns towards the doctor. "Yes, I remember." she adds, feeling uneasy about the manner in which he is watching her.

"How did you get here?" he asks.

"Howard." Maggie says, and she doesn't need to search, doesn't need to scan the room, to find where Howard is; he is slumped against the doorway, hat in hands, and he straightens up upon hearing the mention of his name. "Howard drove me."

Howard is aghast; there is no possible way that she could remember, she was unconscious, she was barely breathing, she nearly breached the distance between this world and the next, and he finds it confusing that she could recall such a traumatic event and yet remain so composed as she recalled it.

"You remember?" Howard questions, he also watches her closely, quizzically, and Maggie feels vulnerable under this intense scrutiny from three sets of eyes.

"Why wouldn't I remember?" Maggie asks. "You came back for me." she warmly adds, with a small smile in place, and Howard cannot believe his ears.

"I did."

"An' you brought me here."

"I did."

"Miss Beauford," The Doctor softly interjects "What is the last thing you remember?" he asks, eyes fixed on her as he watches her fretfully. "Before Howard came back for you? Before you arrived here?"

"I remember hoping that Forrest would come back to me."

Doctor John nods. "An' where did Forrest go?" he asks.

"He left with Howard, to go find Jack."

* * *

**A/N:** I'd like to thank each and every one of you who read this and I'd like to thank those of you who have review/favourite/follow, it still is a bit of a shock to me that other people enjoy reading _my_ writing, and I greatly appreciate the feedback.

You are all so lovely!

I apologize for the delay in updating, but I was lacking motivation. I rediscovered it though, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter. I'm starting Uni, so things are starting to get a bit crazy but I will try and be more consistent with my updates.

My apologies for any spelling errors or if there are any sentences that don't make sense, as it is quite late here and my mind is muddled.

Thank you all! Enjoy.

**X**

**P.s **WOOOOOO! I hit 70+ reviews guys! I am so stoked. Thanks to each and every one of you who leaves feedback, it relieves my nerves about what I've posted and I truly appreciate it you. You guys are awesome.

* * *

**Guest Reviewer who posted on Chapter 1:  
**Aw, thank you for such kind words! I'm glad that you're enjoying it thus far. He is indeed quite reserved, so I'm grateful that I've gotten the opportunity to write this and to attempt to delve deeper and to try and flesh him out without going OOC.

Thanks for the feedback! Hope to hear from you soon :)

**Guest Reviewer who posted on Chapter 15:  
**Wow, thank you for such lovely feedback! It still is a bit of a shock to learn that people enjoy reading what I've written! Aw, thank you so much, I'm so flattered. I was a little concerned with the last chapter, because it was a pivotal moment full of emotion and I wanted to do it justice and not make it appear unrealistic, so I am relieved to learn that there was nothing wrong with it.

Thank you so much :) I hope that this chapter is sufficient enough, and that I hear from you soon. Thanks :)


	17. No More Dreaming

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

**A/N = important.**

* * *

_Return often and take me,_  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;_  
_when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy

Howard sees Emmy.

As he sleeps, he sees fragments of her, sees shades of her former self, catches glimpses of golden hair, glimmering eyes, gentle smiles, and this unsettles Howard, unnerves him greatly, and causes him agony to the point where it is nearly unbearable.

"Emmy?" he calls out.

His voice is raspy, hoarse, and unheard.

The trees sway slowly around him, the breeze is gentle and unhurried, and he swears that he sees Emmy running throughout the forest, ducking and hiding behind trees, and he swears that he can hear the sound of her joyous laugh as she conceals herself from him.

"Is that you, Emmy?"

Rain trickles down softly, gently, causing ripples to appear in the water.

Emmy appears, her blonde hair flowing wildly around her as the wind picks up, and she outstretches a hand to her eldest brother. "Teach me how to drive, Howard." she pleads, but he frowns; he did, he taught her long ago, and as she leads him closer he confesses that.

"I did." he croaks out.

Emmy pauses, her hair is in ringlets from the rain, but then she continues to slowly walk towards the riverbed. As she reaches the water's edge, she turns to face Howard with an angelic smile in place.

"If only you'd taught me how to swim." she says, sounding almost rueful, and then she is pale again, she is drenched, soaked, with pale lips and hair that is dripping wet; her clothes clings to her skin, her hand clings to Howard's, and he is paralyzed, drowning just how Emmy did.

Howard wakes with wet eyes, a pain in his chest, and a heavy burden of guilt on his shoulders; as his eyes adjust to his surroundings, he can't help but notice the emptiness, can't help but notice that Forrest is still absent, still hiding, but then something else catches his attention.

* * *

"Maggie?"

A voice calls out to Maggie, but she only stirs, she doesn't wake completely at the sound of such a sweet voice, a voice so soft and close to her ear, but then it calls again. The voice says her name a second time, a third, and Maggie wishes to wake and embrace the warmth before it threatens to wane then disappear entirely.

"Wake up, Maggie."

Maggie's eyelids slowly flutter open, and she breathes a silent sigh of relief as she finds that Forrest is by her side; he is the one who murmurs her name, and she smiles as she sees that they are entangled in the sheets together.

Forrest watches Maggie closely, watches her movements as she curls up beside him, as she runs her red nails across his bare chest before her hand settles on his heart, and he pulls her in closer.

Maggie can feel his heart beating; it is a slow, steady rhythm that comforts her and soothes the uneasiness of that swells within her. It is both reassuring and calming to have this certainty, to know that his heart continues to beat steadily, even after the irreversible damage that she has inflicted upon it.

"Forrest." she smiles.

His name is a soft whisper on her lips, and as she glances up once again she sees that Forrest watches her with a look of fondness in his eyes – a look which she has long been missing – and she instinctively shifts closer towards him, settling her head on his chest while he starts to run his fingers through her fiery hair.

"This is too good to be true." Maggie remarks.

Forrest does not look at all like a man plagued with doubt and despair, a man who was once overwhelmed with devastation and sickened by thoughts of betrayal, and she does not feel like a woman whose uncertainties greatly outweigh her certainties; in this moment, their love is certain, their devotion is not doubted and their commitment need not be question.

As her eyes wander around the room, _their_ room, she cannot believe her eyes; sunlight has engulfed the bedroom, the rays are beautiful and golden, the sky is boundless and blue, and all is calm.

Forrest presses a kiss to her hair.

She closes her eyes, feeling overwhelmed and overjoyed with contentment, and as her and Forrest breathe as one, as their hearts beat that same steady rhythm, she knows that this is how it was always supposed to be, this is where she was always supposed to be, here, with Forrest, and she never wishes to leave.

"This can't be real." she says softly.

Forrest's steady breathing hitches.

Maggie opens her eyes immediately, baby blues full of alarm, as she looks up at Forrest; he looks down upon her blankly, with heavy lidded eyes, and this instills a sense of concern within her.

She sits up slowly, almost cautiously, and she cannot help but regard Forrest cautiously, fretfully, for she fears that all is not as she thought it to be. "Somethin' wrong, Forrest?"

He shakes his head once, a small smile on his lips, and this should have been indication enough that something was wrong, out of place, not real; Forrest is not one to smile, but Maggie is too enrapt in her bliss to take proper notice of this.

Forrest kisses her.

He presses a kiss to her forehead, soothing her worries immediately, and she settles back down beside him; her hand returns to his chest, his steady heart beat soothes her, and she reverts back to her previous state of contentment.

As she hears the soft sound of birds calling outside, the gentle pitter patter of rain on the rooftop, and as she watches Forrest's chest rise and fall, Maggie cannot help but remark, as she had previously, on her disbelief of such a scene.

"This can't be real." she muses.

It can't be. It is much too serene, too peaceful, too painless, and such luck has never been awarded to Maggie Beauford. But it is real, it is as real as the heartbeat that she feels beneath her hand, as real as the rise and fall of Forrest's chest, and as real as the sound of a low murmur as Forrest whispers to her.

"It's not."

Maggie moves immediately; she sits up, turns towards Forrest, and finds that he is watching her sadly, pitifully, and she hasn't the slightest idea as to why he would say such a thing or why he would look at her in such a manner.

"What?" she asks – she doesn't sound nearly as distressed as she feels – before she pleads with Forrest, her voice a low whisper of sorrowful sounds. "Don't say that, Forrest. Why would you say that? This is real, Forrest." she tells him, her hand returns to his chest. "This is real."

Forrest smiles at her sadly.

"It's not real." he states.

"Don't say that." Maggie cries.

He says it anyway.

Maggie can't help herself from turning hysteric, because this is real, it has to be, otherwise—no, she refuses to think otherwise, to believe otherwise, because this is reality, this is _their_ reality, there is not alternative option.

"This is real." Maggie declares.

Forrest brushes back the hair from her face; his hand lingers on her forehead, before he drops his hand away and sighs sadly. "Wake up, Maggie."

* * *

Maggie wakes up.

She wakes up gasping, her lungs are screaming for air, and she wakes with the sensation of a wave crashing down upon her, a wave shattering all of her false hopes, her delusions, her lies, her false realities, and it is then that she realizes a most horrible truth.

This is reality.

Reality is dull and dark, rain pours down relentlessly outside, and there is no Forrest; a figure hovers above her, a figure whose fingers are gripping both of her shoulders gently as they start to shake her, and her scream for help is caught in her throat as her body is paralyzed with fear.

She releases a small sound, a whimper, and the hands release their hold before the face of the figure finally comes into view. The light of the oil candle – the only source of light in the dim hospital room – illuminates their features, blue eyes with dark marks underneath, dark curls matted together, and a sad smile – a grimace – on their pale lips.

"It's just me, Maggie." Howard tells her softly.

He had noticed that she was tossing back and forth, turning restlessly, and emitting small sounds of pain, distress, agony, and Howard immediately attempted to wake her from her unpleasant slumber.

Maggie attempts to sit up, her chest heaves erratically as her eyes scan around the room, and Howard outstretches a hand in an attempt to coax her into lying back down, so that she won't strain herself or cause herself further pain, but she swats his hand away.

"You don't want to be doin' that, Maggie." he warns.

Regardless of the pain that pierces throughout her, a pain that is almost unbearable, she continues to move because she has to, needs to, she must stand on her two feet and find Forrest and find that reality, that peace, that sweet serenity.

Howard sits by her bedside, he attempts to calm her, soothe her, help her, but she is resistant, reluctant, unwilling; not by choice, but by default. John explained to Howard that her inability to be comforted or calmed was not a choice, but rather a habit, a tendency, a pattern, which the sufferer is not entirely aware of.

Maggie cries out.

Her arms give out underneath her, she falls back down, flat upon her back, before her hand flies to her ribs as a sharp pain stabs her; Howard stays how he is, silent and unmoving, he is completely and utterly consumed by guilt as he agonizes over Maggie, he agonizes over her agony, and he cannot bear it, not for a second longer; he will not abandon her, not how his brother did.

Howard takes ahold of her hand; her hands are soft, small, shaky, whereas his are calloused, scarred, stained with the blood of countless brutes and boors, but she doesn't appear to notice.

"This isn't real, Howard." she states.

Maggie refuses to meet Howard's eyes as she repeats those words, over and over like a mantra, a prayer, a plea, and as she shakes her head her hair falls around her face; her locks are no longer luscious, fiery curls, but her hair has turned flat and dull and it fails to spring to life.

"It's not real, Howard." Maggie tells him.

When she finally meets his eyes Howard is sadden to see that Maggie believes this, she truly feels as though this is a dream, as though this unpleasant reality isn't actual reality, and he sighs inwardly at the desperation in her eyes.

"This is real." he declares, but she shakes her head in defiance, in refusal, she won't believe it, she can't believe it, because if this is reality than it has all gone to ruin. "It's real. You know it is."

"No. No, it's not." she snaps, wrenching her hand out of his hold as she recoils from him, recoils from the words, but he won't give up on her, he can't, not after everything that they have been through. "You're a liar, Howard Bondurant, you're a goddamn liar!"

Maggie hits Howard, her bandaged hand connects with his chest but he barely feels it, barely notices it, and he keeps his eyes firmly on hers as he takes a gentle hold of her hand to stop her from hitting him.

Howard hesitantly reaches for, brushes back the hair back from her face, from her forehead, and tucks stray strands behind her ears. "You know it's real. It ain't nice, it ain't pleasant, but it's real." he says, and she starts to shake again; her entire body shakes with dry, silent sobs.

She clamps a hand down on her mouth, to smother the sounds, to hold them in, to stop herself from shattering, breaking, becoming weak like she swore she never would; but she can't help it, can't stop it, for these are tears of distress, tears of confusion, tears of pure devastation.

As Howard holds her, as he moves closer and encircles his arms protectively around her, as he continues to hold her even as she struggles against him, as he hushes her as she stops writhing and instead starts stammering apologies, he cannot help but reflect on the painful revelations that came to light two days ago.

* * *

"The last thing you remember is Forrest leaving?" Doctor John checked.

He had to know, he had to be sure, because it was likely that she could remember events in flashes, shattered fragments that she didn't understand, couldn't comprehend, and he had to be certain before he continued his questioning.

"He left." Maggie confirmed.

She sounded hurt, broken – she looked it, too – whereas Forrest was still, silent, an unmoving statue, a composed picture of suppressed pain, and as Maggie continued Howard swore that he saw his brother wince at the next words.

"Then Howard came back."

"That's the last thing you remember?"

Maggie confirmed this with a nod, before she continued. "He told me Forrest was hurt, an' we came straight here to see him." she paused, and there was a look of confusion in her eyes, and slight distress also – as the very thought of Forrest being in pain caused her pain – before she launched herself at Forrest.

Admittedly, it hurt her to do so – for her entire body ached with an unpleasant ache – but she was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of relief that washed over her, and she felt the need to express that to Forrest; she didn't need to stand up to reach up, for his chair was within arm's reach and she could easily wrap her arms around his neck.

"Oh, Forrest." Maggie sighed, as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck; he stiffened at this contact, his entire body turned rigid, and, if possible, he turned even more unresponsive when Maggie pressed a kiss to his right cheek.

The change in her mood – from sorrowful to ecstatic – was significant, it was noticeable enough that even Howard saw it, that Forrest felt unnerved by it, and it caused Doctor John a great deal of concern as he watched the abrupt shift in her mood; it was unsettling.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're fine, Forrest!" she exclaimed.

Her enthusiasm was yet to wane as she continued to cling to him, and for the briefest of moments she saw no one else, thought of nothing else, and she forget that Forrest wasn't entirely comfortable with public displays of affection.

Forrest gently removed Maggie's hands from where they were tightly wound around his neck; as she pulled away, her arms still rested on her shoulders as their eyes met. The delight that was previously present in her eyes faded; she appeared flustered, hurt by the rejection, and that much was evident as she turned towards the doctor.

"Miss Beauford." he began, but he was abruptly silenced.

"I don't understand why you're askin' me this." Maggie stated, and continued on regardless of his silence. "I'm here to visit the boys; I'm not the one in hospital," she explained, as she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine."

Doctor John smiled sadly.

He spared a brief glance over his shoulder towards Howard, before he turned back towards Maggie with a grim expression on his features; this immediately instilled a great sense of fear in Maggie, to which she responded by turning to Forrest immediately.

Her eyes were frantic – wild, even – as they fretfully scanned his face for any indication as to what was occurring, as to what was about to unravel, but he remained frustratingly impassive.

Doctor John regarded her sadly, regretfully, and somewhat formally as he uttered the string of words that caused her entire body to stiffen. "You were in a car accident, Miss Beauford."

Maggie shook her head, her eyes still firmly locked on Forrest's face as she disagreed with Doctor John's outrageous, unbelievable and false announcement. "No, I wasn't." she declared.

What hurt the most for both Forrest and Howard was that she seemed so sure of herself, so convinced, so decidedly certain, but she was mistaken; but she couldn't see that, through no fault of her own but due to the injuries she sustained from said accident.

"You sustained serious injuries when—"

"No, I didn't." she said, to which she received no response.

Forrest watched her.

He watched her closely, intently, with both concern and doubt, with unwavering eyes that were soft – this made her significantly less certain of herself – and she soon began to worry, to fret, to doubt and question what she knew, what she felt, what she believed, and the fact that she couldn't trust herself, trust her own memories and recollections, was distressing for her.

"I wasn't?" Maggie murmured, but it was more of a question rather than a statement; she was pleading with Forrest, begging for him to tell her otherwise, but he couldn't, he wouldn't, and she shook her head as he remained silent. "No, I wasn't. I wasn't."

As Forrest sat there, mute and unmoving, he reflected upon how much he missed her, how he has missed her for months now, and how in that moment, as he looked upon her, looked upon the fear in her eyes and the scratches upon her face, he knew that she wasn't back, not yet, she hadn't returned to him and he couldn't be certain if she ever would.

"You were." Doctor John quietly confessed.

Maggie lifted a hand to her face, her fingers traced the scratches, the cuts, the bumps that would turn into bruises, and she had her fears confirmed as she looked up at Howard, with baby blue eyes underneath dark eyelashes, and he had an apologetic look plastered upon his features.

"Howard found you." The doctor declared.

Maggie still had her eyes locked upon Howard, confusion within them as she attempted – and failed – to put the pieces of the blurry puzzle together, and she failed to, she couldn't see what they were trying to show her, couldn't make sense of the words they slowly spoke to her.

"I did." Howard softly confirmed.

Doctor John inched closer, speaking slowly as he did. "It is possible that you sustained damage to your brain, Miss Beauford." he paused, looking sympathetic as he spared her a small, pitiful smile. "I know that you've just woken, an' I don't mean to overwhelm you, but it is important that I assess the extent of the damage now, so to prevent further damage from occurin' in the future."

Maggie turned towards Forrest, for confirmation, assistance, guidance, and he rewarded her with a slow nod, and this told her that it was best if she did as the doctor suggested, it would be best if she complied with what he was suggesting, and so she did.

"How do you feel, Miss Beauford?" Doctor John asked.

The question seemed simple enough, but there were unseen intricacies to it, complications, complexities, and she couldn't answer it with a simple answer, but she couldn't properly explain how it was that she was feeling at that point in time. "I…I don't…" she trailed off.

"Do you remember me?" he questioned.

Maggie frowned.

She didn't understand why he would ask such a thing, she couldn't understand, couldn't have known, but Howard understood, he knew, and he was immediately paralyzed with fear that it would all be revealed to Forrest.

"Why would I remember you?"

Maggie was in pain.

She was silently agonizing over this overwhelming information, this unbelievable turn of events, and so Howard had no other choice but to step forward, to step up, to step forward and put a stop to this before the truth unraveled.

"Don't you think that's enough for today, doc?" Howard abruptly asked, to which he immediately gained the attention of all in the room. "I mean, shouldn't Maggie be restin'?"

"Why would I remember you?" Maggie questioned, sounding somewhat distressful as she did; because not knowing, not remembering, not being able to recall events, was causing her a great deal of distress and she sounded distraught as she continued to question the doctor. "Do I know you? Have we met before?"

"I visited you once, Miss Beauford." The Doctor declared.

Howard halted.

Forrest's breathing hitched.

Maggie moved her eyes, they flickered between the two Bondurant brother's, and she was blissfully unaware of what was about to unravel; Howard, however, was not unaware. He was aware, he was alert, he was ever so cautious of the way that Forrest turned his head towards him ever so slight, dangerously slow and unhurried, and Howard almost considered retreating.

"You took a tumble down the stairs at the station." Doctor John told Maggie, to which she frowned as she raised a hand to her temple. "An' if it wasn't for Howard, it could have been fatal."

"Fatal? How?" Maggie questioned. "I don't—I can't remember."

Howard knew then it was coming that it was inevitable, unavoidable, but that didn't stop him from trying to turn it around. He didn't want Maggie to have to face this, not now, not with the confusion over the accident hanging heavily over her, and he wouldn't let her fight this battle when she was already so feeble, already so disadvantaged.

"You sustained a minor concussion." The doctor announced. "Luckily, for your sake and for—"

"The love of god, ain't that enough for the day, doc? "Howard sighed, cutting across Doctor John and consequently drawing all eyes back onto him once again, and he allowed for his eyes to focus on Maggie's broken features. "Don't she need to rest?" he asked.

"Let him speak, Howard." Forrest warned, slowly and dangerously, but Howard could not let the venom of Forrest's words deter him; he knew he had to fight this, he had to fight it for Maggie, for all that she endured, and she deserved to be of a sound mind and to recall the events so she could explain herself.

How could she explain herself when she couldn't recall any of what happened? Being told that she had a baby, that she lost a baby, and that she lied about having a baby, would only serve to bring her further distress and agony.

"I want to know." Maggie stated softly.

_'No, you don't._' he thought, but didn't say it, couldn't say it, not when his throat was choked up with fear, fear of the unknown, fear of what would unravel, fear of what would become of them.

"Maggie." that was all that Howard managed, before John spoke; his words effectively stunned Forrest, silenced Howard and shocked Maggie, and the only sound to be heard was the sound of rain drops pelting down on a tin rooftop.

"You were pregnant, Maggie." Doctor John announced.

Just like that, all of the air went out of the room, all of the warmth effectively and permanently disappeared, and the tension was nearly tangible.

Howard barely restrained himself from shaking the Doctor up for his stupidity, surely he would have known better, surely he _should_ have known better, than to blurt something like that out.

The last thing that Howard would have thought that Maggie would need at such a time, in such a fragile and potentially unstable state, was the added burden of the lies, the deception, and the blood on her hands.

"Do you remember that?" The doctor quietly questioned.

Her answer was evident in her silence.

Maggie didn't remember, she couldn't, she wouldn't for an immeasurable amount of time – that was if she remembered at all, and it was possible that she would not – and although the doctor was saddened to see that she did not remember, he could not allow for this to deter him from his questions

These queries were painful and intrusive, but they needed to be asked regardless, for it was crucial that the extent of damage be determined. "Miss Beauford?" he softly called her name, but she could not look up from where her eyes were fixed on the empty space between her and Forrest.

"You're lying." Maggie responded.

Doctor John looked upon Maggie with pity. "Howard told me the name you gave him, Maggie. Do you remember that?" he asked, to which he received the exact same response as he had earlier.

"You're _lying_." she declared, enunciating and articulating her words slowly, angrily, with a frustration that the doctor knew and understood all too well; he'd seen this before in patients with memory loss, the frustration over failure to remember, the confusion and the irritation that was all too common.

"Howard told me that you named him James." Doctor John declared, to which he evoked a different emotion in Maggie; first, it was disbelief, then that quickly morphed into sorrow, but this sorrow soon reverted back to anger.

"Who told you that?" Maggie asked.

The silence was suffocating.

She fixed her eyes upon Howard, and they pleaded with him as she posed her question once again, a sorrowful ring to her words as she practically whispered. "Who told you?" she closed her eyes while she awaited his answer, and willed herself not to cry at the mention of that name.

Howard answered without thinking.

"You did."

Maggie's eyelids snapped open.

"No." she shook her head, and her hair flopped lifelessly around her gaunt cheeks rather than bounced as it used to. "No, I didn't." she added, but she sounded less certain, looked less sure of herself, and this hurt Howard to have to witness this.

"Maggie." Howard sighed, stepping forward as he did.

As Howard neared the bed, he noticed how tightly Forrest gripped the armrests of the chair; his knuckles had turned white, bones threatened to burst through skin, as he struggled to contain all the conflicting feelings that surfaced at the sound of those four words.

"Forrest." Maggie uttered his name softly

She fixed her eyes on his face, once again, as she turned towards him; seeking reassurance, assistance or confirmation, but he was taciturn. Forrest was engrossed in his own thoughts, his own pain, and he was unable to respond verbally. "I need to hear it from you, Forrest." she said.

Forrest lifted his head slowly, his eyes flickered up belatedly to meet hers, but he otherwise remained unresponsive. He swallowed, almost as though he had difficulty in doing so, while he watched her – with his eyebrows drawn together, and a distant expression in his eyes – and so she reached forward for his hand, hoping to retract some sort of answer from him.

"Forrest." she pleaded.

She took a tight hold of his right hand.

His face had morphed from an expression of confusion at not being able to comprehend, to an expression of complete and utter understanding; it was unbelievable, the wave of emotions that crashed down upon him, and he was at a loss for how respond.

"Say somethin'." Maggie begged, because this silence was unsettling, this distance between them was unnerving, and this unresponsiveness from Forrest was verging on unbearable. "Say somethin', Forrest."

"You…" Forrest started to say, his voice a dangerously low murmur; he was aghast, in a state of complete and utter disbelief, and he was silently agonizing over her betrayal. He found certain difficulty in finishing his sentence, because this declaration was unbelievable. "You…lied to me."

He wasn't asking; he was realizing.

Forrest knew, the façade had been cracked, the veil of smoke lifted, and all was revealed to be as false – just as he feared it to be – and as he continued to speak, his voice steady and slow, he struggled to remain calm and composed.

Maggie responded belatedly.

She shook her head, both of her hands holding his desperately in vain attempts to hold him in place, to keep him still so that he may see that this is not the truth, because she didn't, she wouldn't, she couldn't lie to Forrest.

"No, I didn't." she declared. "I wouldn't."

There was a crack in the façade, a chink in the armor, and that was in the form of the facial expression that was present on Forrest's features; for a moment there, he almost looked hurt, almost looked like a man plagued with doubt and feelings of betrayal, but then those emotions were swiftly swept away and a mask of impassiveness was positioned back in place.

"You _lied_ to me…" Forrest stated, to which Maggie responded by promptly shaking her head, before he continued so quietly that it was almost inaudible, so softly that it was almost as though he was whispering small and intimate only meant for her ears. "An' you _betrayed_ me."

"I wouldn't." she promised.

Forrest started to extract his hands from her hold, but this only resulted in her grip tightening as she desperately clung to him; her hands feebly attempted to hold him in place, but she was no match for his strength

He pried her fingers from his skin, but she repositioned her hold mere moments after the contact was broken. "No!" Maggie shouted, as she watched him recoil from her. "No, Forrest, don't leave. Please, don't leave." she begged, verging on hysteria.

"You…uh…you _lied_ to me…" Forrest murmured, still incredulous, as he repeated the action of prying her hands from his skin; he couldn't bare the feel of her skin on his, not after this, not after having such a secret revealed.

"I didn't." Maggie promised.

But she did.

Maggie lied. She lied for the sake of protecting Forrest, for the sake of protecting what they had, and she couldn't – or simply wouldn't – see that with each lie she told she was putting their love in further jeopardy.

Howard briefly believed that the worst part would have been not knowing, and he pitied Maggie for he feared that the confusion would surely be tearing her apart, but then he wasn't so certain; because surely knowing it all, each and every detail, knowing how this all unraveled, would have to be worse, right?

Howard wasn't certain.

Which was worse?

Maggie was blissfully blind, unintentionally ignorant, whereas Howard Bondurant was hyperaware; despite the drinking and his best efforts to black it all out, he could recall each moment clearly, painfully so, and it hurt for him to have to see Maggie so certain, so assured of herself, when she was sorely mistaken.

"She was goin' to tell you, Forrest." Howard announced.

Howard knew.

He knew of the lies, the deception, and he assisted in telling them; he betrayed his brother, and for the sake of what? The only explanation that Forrest could come to was that Maggie _feared_ Forrest, she feared his reaction, feared he may leave or ask her to, thus the reason for the lies and the betrayal and the secrecy.

The thought that Howard _knew_, he knew all of this time and he said nothing – he did nothing, he simply remained silent as he aided Maggie in keeping up the false pretenses – angered Forrest, but he was able to contain his temper.

"Uh…huh…" Forrest murmured; that was all that he could manage for the moment, for he felt too conflicted. He sounded unconvinced – he looked it, too – and Howard felt the need to convince him, to persuade him, and to calm him.

Howard was certain that a silent storm was brewing underneath that façade, and he didn't intend to provoke Forrest, therefore he wouldn't delve into details, it wasn't his place to anyhow. "She was goin' to—" he started to repeat his previous words, but Forrest abruptly cut across his elder brother.

"She was?" Forrest asked, sounding just as unconvinced, before he voiced a question that Howard had been dreading. "Was that…uh…before or after…she left…?"

"I left." Maggie confirmed, effectively drawing Forrest's eyes towards her. "I did. But I left to find you, Forrest." she told him, her hands back on his, and he dropped his eyes down to stare at them, almost as though they were foreign, but this did not deter her. "I left, but I was comin' here, for you. I left to _find_ you. I was lookin' for you, Forrest, I've been lookin' for someone like you my _whole_ life."

"You…uh…you left…" Forrest said slowly, he glanced up as he enunciated each word carefully; she wasn't searching for him, she was running from him, running as fast as she could, and she didn't even bother to pack her bags. "To escape…from me…"

The words hurt.

Forrest didn't want to believe them, didn't want to think them, voice them, hear himself say them, but he wasn't able to stop himself; they slipped out, escaped before he was able to prevent himself from saying such things, and there was nothing he could do to take them back now.

"I left to _find_ you." Maggie repeated; tears brimmed in her eyes as she sat up straighter, tightened her hold on his calloused hands, and vainly attempted to convince Forrest to accept her words as the truth. "I left once, Forrest – or, I was goin' to – but that wasn't to get away from you, Forrest, it was to get away from people like them."

"People like whom, Miss Beauford?" Doctor John questioned, and the look that he received from Forrest was deadly, lethal, full of warning, but he feared for Miss Beauford and for her mental state and he was more convinced for her wellbeing than he was for his own.

"People like the men who—" Maggie started, and she would have stopped herself before she could continue any further but Howard swiftly interjected and feebly attempted to steer the topic of questioning in another direction by ruling it out.

"That ain't none of your business, doc." Howard growled; the thought of that night, of those monsters, was enough to evoke this response, this anger, this need to protect her, because this wasn't anyone's business but Maggie's.

"It ain't your business either, Howard." Forrest warned, because even though he didn't wish to delve into such matters – matters that even he wasn't entirely certain of – he didn't particularly like the manner in which Howard interjected, or the idea of the doctor delving into Maggie's private life.

"What people, Miss Beauford?" Doctor John persevered, much to Howard's disapproval, and the eldest Bondurant brother clenched his hands into fists as he restrained himself. "Did someone hurt you, Miss Beauford?"

Maggie looked ill.

If possible, she appeared to be paler, sicker, and there was a lifelessness to her eyes as she shook her head in response; she couldn't form the words, couldn't trust herself to voice them, and so she deemed it to be safer if she remained silent on the matter.

"Ain't no one hurt her, alright?" Howard said.

Forrest turned towards the sound of his older brother's voice. "This ain't your goddamn business, Howard." he growled, feeling the sudden urge to protect Maggie, to shield her from all eyes except his own. "None of this is any of your goddamn business."

"I beg to differ, Forrest." Doctor John bravely interjected. "James was as much Howard's baby as he was Maggie's, an' the loss of a child affects both the mother," he gestured to Maggie, before he gestured to Howard. "An' the father. The emotional loss can be just as—"

A low growl escaped from the back of Forrest's throat.

"The _what_?" Maggie questioned, her mouth hung agape in disbelief; she wouldn't have betrayed Forrest, not like that, not with his own brother, not with his brother who was like a brother to her.

"The emotional loss can be—" Doctor John attempted to finish his last statement, but he was swiftly cut across by Maggie, for Howard was frozen in shock and Forrest was struggling to form any coherent words that didn't consist solely of curses and swears.

"The _father_?"

"I ain't the father—I wasn't—I wouldn't." Howard stammered, shaking his head profusely as he struggled to say what Forrest would be in need of hearing.

Forrest sounded incredulous as he spoke. "You're my _family_, Howard…an' you lied…you lied to me…'bout everythin'…" he murmured, and his voice was low but loud enough that it would haunt Howard perpetually. "Why would I…I ain't got no goddamn reason to believe you."

"I ain't the father." he repeated, but Forrest remained silent.

"I had assumed that you were, Howard." The doctor quietly declared. "My mistake."

"What…uh…" Forrest started, and he struggled to remain composed as he spoke. "What would lead you…to such a conclusion, John?" he asked, almost conversationally, and much to Maggie's dismay and distress.

"I wouldn't do that, Forrest." Maggie promised, speaking before John had the chance to, and she tightened her hold in an attempt to draw his eyes to hers. "You know that. You know it ain't true, Forrest, you know I wouldn't do that to you."

"How…do _you_ know?" he asked.

Maggie faltered. "How do I know what, Forrest?" she asked slowly.

"How…how do you know…" he started, but he struggled with the words, struggled with what they represented, struggled with the very idea of that happening, and so it took twice as long to get each word out. "That you…uh…that you didn't…"

She didn't understand.

"I didn't." Maggie promised.

"Uh…huh…" Forrest murmured.

"We didn't." she stated.

Much to Maggie's disappointment and distress, Forrest remained resolutely skeptical.

"How can you know…if you can't remember…" he wondered, with words so quiet that she nearly missed them; but this accusation did not go unheard, and it was then that Maggie understood.

"I know what you're thinkin', Forrest." Maggie said, because she did.

Maggie she knew that Forrest's mind was racing, thoughts buzzing, and that he had come to the conclusion that because she had supposedly lost pieces of her memory – up until a certain event – then she wouldn't be able to recall whether or not she had slept with Howard.

"No…uh…you don't..." Forrest disagreed.

Maggie didn't know what he was thinking, she couldn't have known – there was no possible way that she could have known - because she wasn't the one who was experiencing such intense, conflicting feelings; he wanted nothing more than to be with his Maggie, but she betrayed him, lied to him continuously and carelessly, and it is evident that this is not his Maggie.

"Don't do this, Forrest." Maggie pleaded, because deep down she knew that he was leaving, retreating, running, recoiling from her and the sorrows that were attached to her. "Don't leave, Forrest, we're _family_."

Forrest frowned, for his thoughts tugged at him, twisted him, pulled him this way and that, and he was uncertain of which action to carry out, which reaction to exhibit. "Family…" he mumbled, as he quietly mused over the word. "Family…we're…family?" he questioned.

Maggie broke.

She felt her face fall, her remaining composure crack, and all hope she had for reconciliation with Forrest were promptly shattered upon hearing that question; he didn't see her as family, not anymore, and the worst part was that she couldn't even recall why or how all these events came to be.

"We're family, Forrest." Maggie declared, tears in her eyes as she started to move her legs; she had difficulty, for they felt heavier, felt as though they were weighed down by invisible chains around her ankles, and at the sign of her moving both Howard and John lunged forward in abrupt attempts to stop her.

"You don't want to be movin' just yet, Miss Beauford." Doctor John declared, but Maggie was focused only on Forrest and his forlorn features.

Maggie didn't acknowledge the doctor, but she seemed to have listened to his words for she stayed seated. As she looked down at her legs, she noticed that her legs were bruised, stained with dark marks, and there were countless scrapes and scratches littered across them.

"We're…family?" Forrest asked.

Maggie briefly wondered whether or not he was indeed the one with memory loss, for he appeared so dazed, confused, distant, but in reality he was still reeling from the revelations.

"We are." she confirmed, glancing back up to meet his eyes.

"You…you _lied_ to me." he whispered, because he still couldn't make sense of this all, still couldn't fathom the four words that resounded loudly throughout his mind; '_you were pregnant, Maggie_.'

Those four words confirmed each fear Forrest had, they brought truth to each suspicion, and they effectively turned each mere doubt into an unsettling and undoubted certainty. "You were my family…an' you lied to me…"

"I'm still your family, Forrest." Maggie reassured him.

Forrest shook his head.

"I'm still your family." she stated, repeating her earlier declaration, but it sounded more like a plea to Howard; she sounded uncertain, doubtful, in desperate need of certainty and familiarity, but Forrest could not provide that for her.

He shook his head again.

It was one simple movement, one single shake of the head in a show of disagreement, and it all shattered around Maggie; tears poured down her porcelain cheeks as she he gently pried her fingers from his hands, but Maggie refused to let Forrest go.

"No! Please, Forrest." Maggie cried, as she clutched to him, holding onto him as though he would keep her afloat, but he himself was drowning and was unable to help her. "No, Forrest, don't." she whimpered as he gently pried her fingers from his arm, once again, and it was this gentleness that pushed her over the edge.

Maggie wept as Forrest left her.

"Forrest, wait." Howard spoke, as reached the door.

Forrest halted, turned his head a fraction towards Howard, but he otherwise remained still and unresponsive; he didn't have anything to say to his brother, the betrayer, the liar, the one who knew from the beginning but never said a single word.

Howard turned towards Forrest, briefly turned his back on Maggie, and his voice was a low whisper as he begged with his brother. "You can't leave her like this, Forrest, it ain't right."

Forrest swallowed slowly, parted his lips then spoke even slower. "It ain't right?" he questioned, but instead of sounding shocked – or even mildly enraged - at the statement he sounded flat, dull, defeated. "Ain't none of this right, Howard….an' it seems like she's been doin' just fine without me."

"Just fine?" Howard repeated the statement in disbelief; he couldn't comprehend how Forrest had come to such a conclusion, since nothing about this was fine, it hadn't been fine for days, weeks, months now, and yet Forrest was apparently ignorant to that. "She ain't fine without you, Forrest, she ain't _nothin'_ without you."

Forrest had begun to move again, one foot out of the doorway when Howard spoke again, his voice just as quiet as earlier as he spoke in a hushed voice. "She needs you, Forrest, you can't walk away from that." he declared, to which Forrest responded by turning his head slightly to the side.

"She ain't really want me here, Howard. " Forrest declared, and his voice was nearly inaudible as he continued. "She'll remember that, an' then she'll leave, just like she did before." he said, but what he didn't add was that he wouldn't be able to handle her leaving him again.

"She ain't goin' nowhere, Forrest." Howard assured him.

_Not right now, but she will,_ Forrest thought but didn't say.

"She's family, Forrest, an' you can't walk away from family.

"You _lied_ to me." Forrest turned around, words sharp and slow as he clearly enunciated each words. "An' you _betrayed_ me…so who the hell are you to talk to me 'bout _family_? You ain't my family, you ain't my brother…you ain't got no goddamn right telling me what is right an' what is wrong."

* * *

"It's real, Howard, isn't it?" Maggie asks, effectively bringing Howard away from his painful recollections and back into unpleasant present. Her voice is a soft, unsteady whisper. "It's real."

"It ain't nice…" Howard murmurs, because life is cruel, unfair and unjust but regardless of such injustices you can't change the past. "But life ain't nice sometimes, Maggie, an' all we can do to survive is hold on as tight as we can."

Maggie grabs at the material of his plaid shirt, but he won't pry her fingers from his skin – just how Forrest did – and instead he holds her tightly – just how Forrest should have – and as he does, he forces himself not to wonder about the fate that awaits them.

"I'm tryin' to hold on, Howard, but I'm slippin'." she cries, and Howard cannot help but notice how small she is, how tiny her frame feels in his hold. "I can't—I'm too tired, I'm _so_ tired."

A small sob escapes her lips, and he instinctively tightens his hold; she almost feels safe, almost feels content, were it not for the overwhelming sense of defeat and devastation that has recently befallen her.

"I'm holdin' on, alright?" Howard promises. "An' I ain't lettin' go."

* * *

**In reply to Valerie;**

Wow. Thank you so much! I am so flattered. Yes, there is a sister! I have woven pieces of her story into this story. No, she doesn't, her memory is entirely gone up until when Howard came back to the house after the shoot-out. The last thing she remembers is being driven into town to visit Forrest and Jack in hospital. Aw, yay, I'm glad to see that is intense and not flat/predictable. I have been busy with Uni stuff, but I stayed up late (excuse any spelling errors) to finish this chapter so I could post it.

I hope this chapter didn't disappoint!

Aww, you're totally flattering me! You should write a Lawless FF, you can explore so much with it, and you're right there aren't many on here. If you wrote one, I would definitely be interested in reading it :)

Thank you for the feedback, Valerie! You're awesome.

* * *

**A/N:** Firstly, I'd like to thank each and every one of you who read this, especially those of you who favourite/follow/review. You are all so lovely, and I more than appreciate the interest you show in my story. I would thank each of you personally, but I don't want to be annoying :) so here's to hoping you read this. Thank you. I write this for you.

Secondly, I'd like to clarify a few things in case there is any confusion. Howard and Maggie's are friends, and I know that Howard Bondurant isn't much of a talker or a hugger and that he would probably feel mostly awkward in such situations but I believe that he has developed significantly in this fanficiton and he is at the point in his friendship with Maggie where he is able to comfort her without feeling awkward.

Next, just in case there are any questions regarding the first few sentences regarding Emmy, that is nothing more than a dream - a nightmare, really - and Emmy didn't die from drowning (not in my story, anyhow) and I understand that there may be some confusion regarding the scene but all will be clarified in later chapters.

Lastly, Forrest is not heartless. He is hurting. Imagine that you loved someone, like you have never loved anyone before, and you trusted them completely, trusted their word and you never doubted them, but then you discover that they lied to you. Maggie lied to protect Forrest, but Forrest can't see that yet. All he sees is that she lied. I myself am similar in my responses - if I'm lied to and I discover it out, I'm not easy to talk to or to reason with, I can be quite short and I don't particularly want to hear any more on the matter, therefore I don't see it as unreasonable that Forrest would be short.

I happen to think that Forrest's reaction was reasonable, considering that all he knew was a lie, and if you have any opinions on the matter then feel free to leave a comment/send a review as I am more than happy to discuss anything with you. I just wanted to get the point across that Forrest loves Maggie more than anything but he is in great pain over her betrayal and I think his reaction is natural.

Don't be deterred by the overwhelming amount of angst, there will be resolution. Don't fret!

Thanks again for reading my story, I cannot properly express how much I appreciate it, and any feedback is equally appreciated!

**X**


	18. You Who Held Me Under

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me,  
_ _beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;  
_ _when the lips and the skin remember,_  
_and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,_  
_when the lips and the skin remember._  
- Constantine P. Cavafy

_Don't do this, Forrest._

Forrest walks away.

He leaves the hospital behind him, leaves the truck where it is, leaves a brother behind, leaves Maggie alone for good, and he walks straight out of town and towards the direction of Blackwater Station with relentless rain pouring down upon him.

_Don't leave, Forrest._

But he did leave. Forrest left, he left because he had to, because this betrayal has burnt him, injured him, hurt him in a way that he never thought he would be susceptible to. Forrest had to leave, he had to flee, he had no other choice but to, because this burden was beginning to be too much to bear.

_We're family_.

As he perseveres, Forrest faintly hears the sound of her voice, the one who he loved, the one who lied and betrayed and deceived, the one who he had to leave behind, and he hates the sound of these words, hates what they represent, hates that they chill him more than the rain does.

_I'm still your family, Forrest._

The rain increases, it pelts down heavily, and as he pushes forward it feels as though the downpour increases with each step he takes towards the Station. His ankles feel as though there are chains upon them, holding him in place, but he drags his feet forward regardless.

Forrest continues on for miles, he forces any and every thought regarding Maggie to the back of his mind as he focuses on the road ahead, and he ignores the unpleasant ache of tender wounds and unused muscles.

"I gotta watch you die all over again."

Forrest halts.

Blackwater Station is within his sights, but he finds that he cannot move his feet forward; the soft sound of Maggie's voice paralyzes Forrest. He turns slowly, uncertainly, and with a small frown set on his features; surely she could not be here, she could not have walked so many miles – not in her current condition – and yet when he turns around, there she is.

Maggie is here.

"You…uh…you…" he trails off, for he is at a loss for words; he cannot fathom how or why she is here, all he can do is fumble over words as he struggles to make sense of it all. "You…you can't..."

"I'm not doing it again." she declares, with a sad smile on her lips as she inches closer. "I'm not going to watch you die all over again, Forrest, I mean it this time."

"I ain't…I ain't dyin'..." Forrest tells her, before he falls silent as she closes the remaining distance between them; she presses her left hand to his right cheek, her skin is equally as cold as his, and he finds that he is much too stunned to properly respond.

"Ain't that just like you to believe your own damn legend." Maggie says, her voice a lower murmur, a quiet sigh, and sadness swells in her eyes as she presses her right hand to his left cheek. "I'm not doing it again, Forrest." she ruefully repeats. "I'm not."

"What...uh...what happened..." Forrest asks, even though this isn't real, it can't be, this isn't Maggie, this is a manifestation of his mind, a trick, a cruel creation, but the words slip out before he is able to stop them. "When you got back..."

"You know what happened, Forrest." she winces, as she slides a hand down his check, down his neck – fingers gently brushing against the scarred skin of his throat – and further down to his chest. "In here, you know..." she says, as her hand settles above his heart. "You wished you didn't...but you do...you know."

His throat is dry, lips cracked, skin cold.

"They hurt me, Forrest."

His breath hitches, chest tightens, head spins. "They did?"

"You're so cold, Forrest." Maggie observes, ignoring Forrest entirely as she brings her hand back up to his right cheek. "You're too cold." she whispers, eyes watching his closely as he contemplates his next choice of words.

"They...hurt...you..." he murmurs.

She nods, her hair is damp, clothes are drenched, but she appears to be fairing better than Forrest; he feels something fading, slipping, dimming with each passing moment, he feels the surrounding world darken with each slow second, feels the light diminish with each unsteady breath.

Maggie flinches as Forrest touches her skin, as he presses a icy hand to her cheek, and he feels a small frown form on his features because of her reaction. He doesn't move the hand away, even as she closes her eyes, shuts them tightly as though she is frightened, as though she is terrified, and he is barely able to find his voice, but he eventually does.

"I ain't...uh...I ain't going to hurt you, Maggie." Forrest promises, voice barely audible over the downpour that has softened only slightly since Maggie first made her appearance. "I wouldn't..." he tells her, but she trembles from the cold or from the fear, and her tears are masked by the rain as she pries his hand from her skin.

"But you did." she says, grimacing as she opens her eyes; she fixes her baby blues on him, and as he struggles with his words, struggles with his breaths, she soothes him and holds his hand tightly in her own.

As they lay down on the road together, eyes locked on each other, hands intertwined in an unbreakable hold as the rain continues to pour down harshly around them, Forrest finds that he doesn't feel cold anymore.

* * *

Howard sees it all in flashes.

Painful recollections cause him to wake early, and as his eyes slowly refocus on his surroundings he can't help but notice that Forrest is still absent; he curses quietly under his breath, before he casts a glance over Maggie as she sleeps, on her side with her back to Howard, a seemingly peaceful sleep. He doesn't believe that Maggie is managing; each breath she draws in is slow, steady, calm, but this only serves to further unnerve Howard, who believes this to be yet another façade, a mask, an act, when beneath the surface she is broken beyond repair.

He draws in a long, silent breath as he sits up straighter in the uncomfortable hospital chair, before he rubs harshly at his eyes and then stands, with his hat in his right left. He moves slowly, and as quietly as he can, towards the window where he sets his eyes on the horizon.

Grey clouds hang heavy with burden in what was once a boundless blue sky, while rain continues to drizzle down upon the town; the sun is concealed, consequently casting a dreary dull light across the county, and Howard briefly wonders when this weather will relent and when Forrest will return.

"Goddammit…" Howard quietly mutters, as he runs a hand through his hair then down across the stubble on his cheeks. "Damn you, Forrest." he shakes his head, his hand drops back down to his side where he clenches it into a closed fist.

Howard saw Jimmy.

As he slept, he saw Maggie first, he saw her on the bathroom floor with her hands covered in that same awful blood that stained her clothes, and then he saw flashes of horrors that he never saw happen but his mind substituted with these cruel creations; it taunted him, tortured him with images of _that_ night, of those bastards, of what they, and then it was gone.

His mind was submerged into darkness, and from that darkness a figure of light stepped forward; Emmy. He saw Emmy next, with pale blue lips and eyes rolling around in her head, with blood trickling down from her temple and a small smile frozen on her features.

Then there was Maggie, again, bleeding, face broken, eyes seeping with salty tears, but then his dreams were engulfed by sunlight and warmth and then there was a small child, a boy standing by the edge of the forest, standing beside his forest, a boy in overalls and an oversized hat, and he called out for his Uncle Howard; he kept calling out for his Uncle Howard.

Howard thought that by waking up he would be able to escape such hauntings, but he was mistaken; because he sees Jimmy now – or at least he sees who he thinks Jimmy would have grown to look like – down on the street below, and he is barely able to restrain himself from leaving the hospital to approach him.

Jimmy has fair hair, just like his daddy, but curls just like his Mama.

"Jesus Christ…" Howard mutters, and he rubs harshly at his face as he glances away from the window before abruptly turning back in a matter of seconds; he doesn't wish to see them any longer, the faces that haunt him, but he seems incapable of dragging himself away.

When he glances back out the window, he finds that Jimmy is no longer there and he immediately feels a sense of disappointment and mild distress. "Jimmy?" he quietly calls out the name, to who he isn't sure, and then he wonders whether or not he is going mad or it has simply been too long since his last drink.

"Don't."

Howard hears a small voice behind him, and he snaps around immediately to find that Maggie is awake, alert, and facing Howard; she still rests on her side, with the blankets tugged up to her shoulders, and she closes her eyes as she repeats the word.

"Don't." Maggie says, again, with eyes tightly shut, and it sounds more like a plea than a warning. "Don't be sayin' that name, Howard." she adds, but she doesn't sound angry; she sounds sad, defeated, and maybe even ashamed.

"I ain't tryin' to—I wasn't—I—" Howard stammers, as he fumbles and stumbles over an explanation and apology. "I didn't—I ain't never meant to upset you, Maggie."

"I know, Howard." she says softly, hands fluttering around her face as she brushes away the stray tears on her cheeks, almost as though she is ashamed, almost as though these aren't her tears to shed.

"I won't say it again, Maggie." he declares, as steps forward, moving closer to her bedside. "I swear." he adds, even though he knows that his word means nothing.

Howard is the liar, the betrayer, the brother who is only a brother by blood and by no other means or bonds, and he doesn't expect Maggie to believe him, to take his word, because she can't recall all that they have been through, she doesn't remember all that he was there for, and she has absolutely no reason to put her trust in a drunk like Howard Bondurant.

"I just...thought that I saw…" he trails off, knowing that this is territory that he shouldn't be crossing into, and he silently curses himself for being as careless as Doctor John was with his words.

"I know." Maggie says. "I heard."

She surprises Howard when she smiles kindly at him as her eyelids slowly open, and he knows that this is her silent plea to end this discussion, to speak of other things than the baby that she can't remember, and he nods to himself in silent acknowledgment and agreement that he will cease to speak of Jimmy hereafter.

"Forrest is comin' back." Maggie tells Howard, as he sits back down by her bedside; he glances down at the worn hat in his hands, and a small flicker of anger is evident in his eyes as he reflects upon his brother's abandonment.

While he feels guilt ridden over how he betrayed Forrest, his brother, his blood, he also feels angry over Forrest's abandonment, angry that Maggie begged Forrest to stay but he still didn't.

Howard slowly drags his eyes back up from his hat, and he would have even forced a smile had it not been for the sickly tint to Maggie's pale skin, the bruises and cuts that adorn her skin or the desperate look in her eyes that wipes the beginnings of a smile straight from Howard's now forlorn face.

"That right?"

"That's right." she confirms.

Howard remains unconvinced, but he refuses to allow for that doubt to show; he doesn't wish for her to be shaken up by his lack of confidence, therefore he remains silent. But this silence does not deter Maggie, as she is apparently neither wistful nor woeful today.

"How you know?" he asks.

"Sometimes…" Maggie whispers, with a small smile on her lips as she speaks, and Howard is surprised by this sight, by this smile, because he honestly can't recall the last time when he saw a smile on her face. "You just know."

Howard hears the words, but he is unable to respond; for he is no longer in the hospital room, now he is standing by an unmarked grave of an unborn baby, and he sees Maggie is also there. She is a mourning mother, with a contorted expression on her pale features, and he is asking her how she knew;

"The baby was a boy?" he had asked.

"I just knew, Howard." Maggie confirmed.

Howard is aware that he is ignoring Maggie, he is aware that he is completely enrapt in this memory, but he can't seem to drag himself away from the painful recollection; he sees it, pictures it vividly, relives it as though it is happening all over again, and for a fleeting second he almost wishes that he was the one who had forgotten it all.

"Sometimes…you just know." she told him then, just how she tells him now.

Her voice is a small whisper as she repeats the words again, a mantra, a prayer, "I just know, Howard." she murmurs, and he cringes at the similarity of the statements as he refocuses on the present.

"You think I'm lying, don't you?" Maggie abruptly asks, her eyes narrow in slightly as her tone turns accusatory; but Howard isn't deterred by this, for the doctors had warned of the chances of these abrupt changes in moods, they were to be expected, but that doesn't make Howard any less baffled by the question.

"I ain't thinkin' that, Maggie."

"I'm not lying." she assures him, and what hurts the most for Howard is that she seems so certain, so assured, that he doesn't have the heart to break it to her, he can't go against what she says, he can only let her have this illusion. "You'll see." she promises.

Forrest had countless reasons to leave, but he also had every reason to stay; as Howard thinks upon this, he finds himself to be angered – appalled, even – by the actions of his brother, by his abandonment, and although Forrest has no idea of how this all begun he is more than willing to walk away and end it.

He has no idea of the trauma that Maggie has suffered, no idea of how she broke, how she wept, how she mourned, how she tormented herself, kept herself up at night fretting over what Forrest would think, and he has no idea of how ill she was, how ill she made herself.

Forrest wasn't there, just how he isn't here now, and Howard can't help but be angered by that.

"He's coming back, Howard." Maggie smiles fondly as she tells Howard this, before she shuts her eyelids to rest her heavy eyes as she continues on in a whisper, "You just wait an' see, Howard Bondurant, your brother is coming back for me."

But he doesn't.

Forrest doesn't come back that day.

* * *

"Can you help me up, Howard?" Maggie asks the next day, as she sits on the edge of the hospital bed; her hands grip the sheets beside her weakly, shoulders shake ever so slightly, as she struggles to stand on her own two feet without assistance.

Howard hesitates, because Maggie only wants to move, only wants to walk towards the window, so that she may watch the roads down below, her eyes desperately scanning for Forrest. She should be resting up, considering the severity of her injuries, considering that the Doctor specifically said she shouldn't strain herself by moving too suddenly or too frequently, and in this moment of hesitation Maggie moves without Howard.

She attempts to stand up by herself, once again, and she succeeds; she moves forward slowly, drags her feet across the cold ground, and as she reaches the nearest object – a chair, the chair that Howard sits in, stays in, sleeps in – she grips it tightly, holds it as though it is the only thing supporting her, the only thing stopping her from collapsing, and truthfully it is.

Or, it was.

Dizziness hits her, causing her to lose her balance and take a stumble forwards, and, as her unsteady legs collapse beneath her, she sees the floor nearing; but a hand reaches out, intervenes before she collides with the floor, and it catches her by the arm.

Maggie clenches her eyes tightly shut, she closes them in a vain attempt to distract herself from the searing pain surging through her, and when she speaks her voice comes out in a soft, croaky whisper.

"Please, Howard." she pleads, but he doesn't respond – not immediately, anyway – because he knows what she wants, knows what she needs, and he can't watch her sit by the window for yet another whole day, as she waits expectantly for Forrest to appear. "I just want to sit by the window. I just want to see the sun." she lies

The sun hasn't been here in days, and neither has Forrest.

"Alright, alright..." he grumbles, giving in, giving up, because he can't deny this; she needs this, needs this delusion to cling to, to live by, and he can't bring himself to break that illusion, not when it is the only thing that seems to bring her to life each morning.

"He'll come back for me, Howard." Maggie tells Howard, with baby blue eyes focused on the forestry in the distance, as she settles into the chair by the window, and he can't bring himself to break her hopes just yet, not after she the way Forrest broke her heart; she won't admit it, she can't, and instead she settles for denial.

Denial can be deadly.

* * *

"Why isn't he here, Howard?" she cries, on the fourth day, unrestrained and uninhibited. "Why hasn't he come back?" she asks, and Howard attempts to soothe her, he hushes her and awkwardly attempts to console her, as he sits on the bed beside her, but she is inconsolable.

"He'll come back." he lies, solely for the sake of soothing her, but she sees clearer now, more so than she had before, and she calls him on his lies, calls his bluff, and he is at a loss for what else to say other than another white lie.

"He's not here, Howard." she wails, and her breathing is heavy and erratic, how she manages to catch proper breaths between bursts of words and short sobs is beyond Howard, and he notices that as time progresses her sobs slowly turn into soundless cries.

_He should be_,Howard thinks but doesn't say. "He will be." he tells her, even though there is no way of knowing, even though with each day that passes it seems less likely that he will return.

* * *

She remains resolutely silent whenever she cries now, with her back to Howard and the sheets pulled up to her shoulders, and, as she shakes underneath white sheets with soundless sobs, she knows what must be done, what must be said. "Go home, Howard." Maggie begs, on the sixth day, with her back still to Howard; because she can't face him, she doubts that she will ever be able to face a Bondurant brother again. "Go home."

But he doesn't.

"Go be with your family, Howard." she says softly, gently, and her voice only shakes slightly as she asks this of him. "Please, just go. Go an' be with your family."

"I am with family." he tells her.

Maggie closes her eyes as she continues, because it pains her to say this, it pains her to have to push Howard away, but she will only hurt him – just how she was told she hurt Forrest – and she can't bear the thought of that. "I ain't your family, Howard. I never was."

"I _am_ with family." Howard repeats.

"Your family need you, Howard." Maggie explains, but Howard is a Bondurant therefore he is inherently stubborn by nature; he doesn't answer her immediately, instead he remains silent and remains seated, until his voice suddenly rings out throughout the darkness.

"You're family, Maggie."

"I'm not worth the trouble, Howard."

* * *

Forrest wakes to sunlight.

It streams in, engulfs him, engrosses the room in an almost ethereal light, and as he slowly scans the room his eyes settle on the figure beside him, a figure with fiery locks and fair complexion, a figure who sleeps softly and soundly, her chest rising and falling evenly, steadily, and he is entranced by how peacefully she rests.

Maggie opens her eyes slowly, a warm smile spreads across her lips as she sees that Forrest is awake; they slept facing each other, although Forrest always sleeps on his back, always ensures that he never shows his back to his enemies – not even in the comfort of his own home – and this should have been the first sign that something was wrong, but he has missed this too much to pay notice to the finer details.

Forrest is transfixed by her.

There is something about her, something captivating, consuming, hypnotizing; this is Maggie, his Maggie, the one he has missed, the one he has longed for, the one he can barely be without, and she has returned to him.

"Stay with me..." Maggie murmurs, voice soft and soothing. "You gotta stay with me."

A breeze blows through the bedroom, a gust of air that disturbs their surroundings but leaves them unaffected; it is colder now, a chill slowly starts to sweep over Forrest, but as she intertwines their hands he is warm again.

"You have to stay with me, Forrest." she whispers as she continues to watch him warmly, a fondness in her eyes that he has longed for, and as she presses her lips to his hand he feels yet another chill spread throughout his body.

"Uh...um..." he starts, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "I...I ain't going nowhere."

Maggie curls up against his body instinctively. "Stay here, Forrest." she drapes an arm across his bare chest, before she brings her eyes back up to meet his. "Stay with me."

But he can't.

Something is drawing him away, taking him from her, and he can't fight this feeling, can't stop himself from fading, and as his eyes fall shut he still continues to hear her voice, hear her painful pleas, but he is as helpless as she is.

"Stay with me." she begs.

But he doesn't.

* * *

Pain.

Maggie is in pain.

It is sharp, searing, stabbing.

"Maggie?" his voice rings out across the room, hoarse and husky and Howard; hands settle on her shoulders, tilt her chin up to try and get a look into her eyes, eyes which are now clenched shut, but she is lost to her senses now, consumed by them, she can't answer.

The hands retreat, the voice fades as the footsteps do, and she can barely make out the words over the sounds of her own cries. "Doc?!" he shouts, and he needn't scan the hallways for help for the nurses had heard the sound of Miss Beauford's bloodcurdling cry.

Maggie is captured, completely and utterly engrossed in this endless sensation, pins pierce through the soft surface of her scalp, knifes dig into the tender skin of her temple; a white pain, blazing, burning, unbearable, and then gone.

As Maggie slowly starts to reclaim her senses, all is still and silent – unnervingly so – and as she opens her eyes, Maggie finds that it is no longer just her and Howard; as Doctor John has joined them, and he watches her closely, scrutinizing each movement while also looking upon her with a certain degree of pity.

"Are you alright, Miss Beauford?" Doctor John asks, as Maggie slowly starts to glance in the room, take in her surroundings, and she fails to answer him as her eyes fall upon the window on the far wall. "Maggie?" he prompts, concern evident in his eyes as he turns to look at Howard, who nods in silent confirmation with the doctor.

The eldest Bondurant brother steps forward slowly, taking his place by her bedside, and as she cries out again, her hands flying to her head, he lurches forward in his chair; his hands fumble to reclaim Maggie's as she digs her fingers into her temples, nails reopening old wounds and drawing blood on one side.

"It hurts, Howard." she complains as he captures her hands in his; she struggles, for the pain hits again, a second time, and the doctor departs immediately in search of supplies, while Howard tries to keep his hold on her hands. "It hurts."

"Maggie, stop."

"It hurts." Maggie cries.

The bruises that stain her skin have darkened significantly, the cuts still remain, and so Howard tries to remain gentle with her, he doesn't want to hurt her, he can't, but he won't allow for her to hurt herself; she continues to fidget, her frail form shakes as she struggles with him, but he can't let her do this.

He has no other choice but to tighten his hold.

"Let go, Howard." she shrieks, but he doesn't; he holds on tightly, closely, and she is suffocating, itching to get away, to escape from everything including herself, but he holds her here. "Let me go. You have to let me go."

"Can't do that, sorry."

"Please, Howard. It hurts. I can't handle it, Howard." Maggie pleads, her hands are still fidgeting in his hold. "I can't. Howard, please. Help me."

"You're a fighter, Maggie." he states, but she simply shakes her head, and she keeps shaking it as he continues speaking. "There ain't nothin' you can't handle, Maggie. You ain't giving up on yourself, an' I ain't givin' up on you. I ain't goin' to let it happen."

"I can't fight it, Howard."

"You can."

"I don't want to."

"You do."

"You don't know what it's like, Howard." she tells him, her wide eyes watching him closely as he continues to hold her hands; her chest rises and falls raggedly as she draws in sharp breaths in between declarations. "I can't sleep. I can't think. I can't breathe. It doesn't make sense, Howard. None of it makes sense, an' I can't sleep because of it."

* * *

It started with a fever.

He is burning up, his skin is alight, the fever is slowly claiming Forrest and all Jack can do is watch on silently, for he is aghast with fear of what fate awaits his older brother. Beads of sweat trickle down Forrest's forehead, his skin is slick with sweat, his shirt is damp from the fire of a fever that is consuming him, and all Jack can do is press a damp washcloth to his skin.

"You gotta stay here, Forrest." Jack demands, as he continues to watch Forrest writhe uncomfortably. "Come on, Forrest, you're a fighter...you got this, Forrest. You got this."

As he tends to Forrest, as he continues to wipe at his skin with a washcloth, wringing it out into one bowl before plunging it into another filled with cold water, he reluctantly reflects on how Forrest came to be in such a state.

When Jack heard the car doors slamming, he immediately stepped out onto the verandah; the rain was pouring down, harsh and relentless, and as he saw two figures approaching the Station from their car he had immediately assumed that it was Howard and Forrest.

He was wrong.

"That you, Forrest?" he called out, frowning when he received no response, and when he stepped forward he saw that the two figures had a body between them; a lifeless, limp body, and as they came closer into view he saw something that made his hurt lurch. "Howard?"

Jack ran out into the rain without thinking, he ran with large leaps towards the two men, and between them was Forrest. "What the hell did you do to my brother?" he demanded to know, eyes darting between the two men.

"We ain't done nothin', Jack." Rodger said – Jack recognized him from around the bar – before he nodded towards the house, he didn't bother waiting for Jack's response. "We gotta get him inside, now." he stated and Jack obliged, and, despite the feeling of unease in the pit of his stomach, he moved back inside with hurried steps.

Forrest is burly, he is bulky and broad-shouldered, and so it surprised Jack to see that they were able to move Forrest. "Found him on the side of the road." Rodger declared, consequently causing Jack great distress. "Soaked through to the bone, Jack; he ain't lookin' good."

He was drenched, soaked to the skin, lifeless, limp, and incredibly pale; it wasn't looking good, wasn't sounding good, and as Jack briefly glanced around the bar and saw all that he had fixed, all that he had cleaned up after Howard and Forrest – glass, blood and broken chairs – he considered tearing the place apart in fit of frustration and fear of the unknown.

"Jesus..." Jack muttered, shaking his head as he followed the men as they headed towards the direction of the stairs; somehow, they managed to move Forrest upstairs, they set him down on his bed before returning to their vehicle in hurried strides to go fetch a doctor from in town.

When the doctor arrived, Forrest had already worsened; he was pale, with lips so cold that they were white, white like his skin which looked translucent in places, and he still remained unresponsive and unconscious.

"I won't be able to tell how serious it is until Forrest wakes." Doctor Davis stated, after he had packed up his medical supplies, before he turned to face Jack with a solemn expression on his face.

"He's goin' to be alright, isn't he?" Jack asked, because he had to be alright, it was Forrest, he was family, a brother, and Jack has already lost too much family; he can't lose Forrest, he won't allow it. "Isn't he?"

"He could have pneumonia, Jack." Doctor Davis declared, as he glanced over his shoulder at the middle Bondurant brother slumped over on the mattress on the floor. "If he does, it could be fatal; god only knows how long he was out there for, an' I won't be able to know 'till he wakes."

"Just 'cause it could be doesn't mean it will be." Jack defiantly replied, refusing to believe that a fighter like Forrest could or would ever succumb to such a thing as pneumonia. "It ain't set in stone, doc, nothin' is."

Forrest coughs harshly, spluttering as he attempts to sit up, and this immediately brings Jack back to the unpleasant present. He coughs again, clutching at his chest with eyes clenched shut, and Jack drops the washcloth and trades it for a mug of water.

"You gotta drink this, Forrest." he demands, but Forrest is much too disorientated to understand.

The middle Bondurant brother moans in pain as he feels that all too familiar sharpness in his chest. He draws breaths in fast, sharp and frequently; but it is the rough, hoarse, harsh coughing that causes most concern for Jack.

Forrest sits up slowly, he slumps against the wall behind him before he slowly opens his eyes; eventually, they focus on Jack, and he is flooded with confusion as he struggles to make sense of this. He shuts his eyes again, for he is plagued with a fever that is rendering him weak, useless, defenseless.

"Maggie?" Forrest asks.

It is one word, the word that means the most, the word he can't make sense of, and Jack understands that it is all that Forrest can manage for the moment; when he isn't having difficulty breathing, Forrest is breathing rapidly, erratically, uncontrollably, almost as though he is worked up, consumed by a swelling rage.

He is in discomfort, that much is obvious by the grimace of pain on his features as he coughs harshly, again, and his throat is dry, croaky, raw with unspoken words. His head is thumping, an awful rumbling of drums resounds throughout his mind as he weakly wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Not here." Jack whispers.

Forrest keeps his eyes clenched shut as he attempts to calm his breathing; he starts to couch harshly, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, and once he is done, once he pulls his hand away, Jack watches as Forrest sucks in uneven, ragged breaths, and then his eyes fall on the blood.

"Howard?" Forrest croaks out, his eyes have fallen shut once again, and he is yet to notice the spot of blood in the center of his left hand, the spot of blood that Jack can't seem to draw his eyes away from, and when Jack doesn't answer he opens his eyes.

Jack slowly draws his eyes away from the blood, and as he meets Forrest's somewhat expectant gaze he realizes that he has forgotten to answer; he shakes his head once, signaling that Howard has yet to return home, and he can't help but drop his eyes back down to the dark spot of blood.

Forrest slowly follow his stare, and as his eyes settle on the blood he barely seems bothered by it. "Uh...it ain't..." he starts, but he is weak, he is exhausted, and he can barely bring himself to finish his sentence, and, upon noticing this, Jack does what he does best.

He talks.

"It ain't nothin', Forrest." Jack agrees, because he knows Forrest, he knows his brother, knows how he likes to downplay things – especially when it relates to his suffering – and he doesn't wish for Forrest to think about the origins of the blood. "This ain't nothin', Forrest. You been through worse. You beatin' this already, Forrest."

Forrest stays silent, stays still, as his slate-gray eyes settle on the empty in the bed beside him; she isn't here, she never was, and the resulting pain in his chest from this realization nearly leaves him breathless.

"She's still in the hospital." Jack sadly states, and he draws a small frown out of Forrest; how Jack knows this is beyond Forrest, but then he supposes that word does spread around Franklin County like wildfire, especially if that word is linked to the Bondurant brother's. "I ain't been to see her yet, Forrest. How is she? She goin' to be alright? I bet she is. She's strong, Forrest."

"Maggie...uh..." Forrest begins, words raspy, throat raw but not unbearable. "She...she ain't remember much..."

Jack frowns. "You sayin' she's forgotten us, Forrest?" he asks, somewhat anxiously, but despite his anxieties and his need to know he remains patient with Forrest, who takes longer to get the words out than usual. "She ain't forgotten us, has she, Forrest?"

Forrest shakes his head slowly, eyes heavy and body weary as he wills himself to stay awake.

"What's she remember, Forrest?" Jack queries.

"Rakes." Forrest rasps out. "The bridge."

As Jack comes to the awful realization that Maggie doesn't recall carrying a child, his eyes are large, wide, bulging out of his head before he forces himself to not react any further and he recomposes himself; but he was too late, too slow, for Forrest had caught sight of this reaction; but he is too weak, tired to the point of physical and mental exhaustion, that his thoughts slowly begin to wander.

"You gotta drink this, Forrest." Jack declares, as he brings his eyes back up to meet Forrest's. "You got to." he insists, and Forrest nods, as he faintly recalls hearing Jack speak.

Forrest can't hold the mug himself, so Jack gladly holds it for him, and after he has finished drinking Jack brings the washcloth back up to his forehead; he makes a sound of protest, a grunt of disapproval, but Jack will be damned if he lets his brother deteriorate.

Jack tends to Forrest, he takes care of Forrest just how Forrest always took care of him, and as Forrest slowly begins to fade, as his eyes fall shut as he falls into a slumber, he starts to see Maggie; her face forms, right beside his own, and as he watches her, watches the small smile spread across her lips, all he wants to do is hold her.

Forrest misses Maggie.

He knows what she did, knows that she lied, that she hurt him more than he ever that someone could, but that doesn't stop him from missing her; he misses her like he never thought he would miss anyone, and with each moment that passes he misses her more.

It is infinite and indescribable.

* * *

"Miss Beauford?"

A voice calls her name, to which Maggie responds by turning her head towards the sound, but she otherwise shows no signs that indicate that she heard the doctor; he watches her intently, and takes particular note of the way that her eyes are wide, unfocused and distant.

Howard stands solemnly by the window, eyes stubbornly stuck on the road, and he also turns his head towards the source of the sound, but gives no other indication that he indeed heard the words of the doctor.

"Miss Beauford?" he calls again.

Maggie glances up blankly, her blue eyes settling on the doctor – who sets a small, pitiful smile on his features as she looks directly at them – and as she parts her lips to speak, she finds that she can't quite recall just what she was going to say to the man.

"How are you feeling, Maggie?" Doctor John softly asks, as he takes a slow step forward, warm eyes still fixed on her face as he continues to step towards the end of her bed; she looks confused, there is a tiny frown on her features, she regards him almost quizzically, and he wonders just why that is.

When Maggie doesn't respond, the doctor turns to Howard. "A word, Howard?" he gestures to the doorway, and Howard moves reluctantly, he spares Maggie a small, reassuring smile before he steps outside into the hallway and shuts the door behind him.

"Somethin' wrong, doc?" he asks.

Doctor John smiles at him pitifully. "Miss Beauford needs to stay here until she is fully recovered; that could be weeks, maybe even months, an' this is all depends on her progress. If she won't talk to me, Howard, I can't help her, I can't get her out of here any earlier."

"I thought you said you could help her." Howard growls.

"It's awful hard to help someone who doesn't want it."

"I suppose you want me to do somethin' 'bout it, do you, doc?" Howard questions.

"How is she, Howard?" The doctor asks. "Truthfully." he adds, because he needs to know, he has to evaluate her, and if she won't comply then he needs to go to the next best source who would have observed her behavior.

"She's up an' down, doc." Howard declares, because he has been witnessing it for days not, an endless series of erratic emotions, and has been quite worried by such displays. "She ain't sleeping much, ain't eating much either. She...she's just lyin' there, doc, just how she was before. Thought you said you could help her, huh? That's what you said, doc. She ain't any better though, is she? She ain't better. She's worse."

"You need to go home, Howard." Doctor John sighs. "When was the last time you slept? Ate? Bathed?"

"There ain't nothin' wrong with that chair, doc." Howard declares, as he spares a brief glance over his shoulder and towards the closed door; he can't help but feel worried, anxious, fretful, for he can't recall the last time he left Maggie alone. "I'm sleepin' just fine."

"You need to go home." The doctor repeats, much to Howard's disbelief; he had just made himself quite clear, and yet the doctor seemed to not have heard him the first time. "She will be well looked after here, Howard, I'll see to it myself."

Maggie makes a small sound, a tiny whimper, as the pain returns, and as Howard hears this through the walls he stiffens, and speaks slowly, stepping backwards towards the door as he does. "I ain't goin', John." he shakes his head. "I ain't leavin', not when I'm the only one who stayed."

The headaches started off small, but they had gradually turned into something worse; they are always there, always present and painful, always a reminder of a greater pain, and aside from the occasional sound, a tiny whimper or a sharp intake of breath, Maggie has remained otherwise silent.

She won't allow herself to slip now, can't allow for herself to crumble, to break, to be like this, frail and weak, and she will no longer let herself apart; she can't let it happen, she has never fallen apart like this before, but she doesn't blame Forrest.

She blames herself.

"I'll tell you a story, Maggie." Howard offers, as he reclaims his seat by her beside and attempts to distract her from the headache; the doctor had mentioned that, unfortunately, this was one of the common symptoms of a concussion.

Howard tells her about a girl, born and raised in the country side, a girl with hair as golden as the sun and the kindest eyes he'd ever seen. He tells her about a sister, a friend, a hole in hist heart, but Maggie loses herself; she has trouble concentrating, she can't seem to make sense of his story, so he stops.

"I waited, Forrest..." she whispers, as Howard watches her, as she thinks of Forrest, always of Forrest, because even here, even in the confinements of these four white walls, all she can see is Forrest, all she can here and feel is Forrest.

But he isn't here, hasn't been for days now, almost a week, and it unbearable without him; but she supposes that she deserves it, deserves this pain and this distress, because she was told that she broke him, hurt him, lied to him – just how she never thought she would – and this is her punishment.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you, lovely readers! **

I'd like to thank each and every one of you who read this, especially those of you who favourite/follow/review. You are all amazing and appreciated.

In regards to this chapter, I'm not entirely happy with it but I thought that it was necessary - the reason for this is because I wanted to get the symptoms across for Maggie, as she is suffering from a concussion; headaches, trouble sleeping/concentrating, confusion, and being an emotional rollercoaster are all predominant symptoms.

Also, I'd like to clarify this in case there is any confusion: Forrest hallucinates Maggie at the beginning, she is not actually present, and this is also the cause later on in the chapter where she asks him to stay with her. And, in regards to her behaviour, I understand that there may be some of you who think she may be crying constantly, all the time, I think that she has sound reasons to do so. She has been through tragedy after tragedy. It is understandable. And, imo, I think that considering all that she has been through that she is holding herself together relatively well, aside from the bouts of crying which now attributed to her concussion and, in chapters before the accident, the crying was attributed to her miscarriage and the post-partum depression that she didn't know she suffered afterwards.

Thank you again!  
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter.

P.s I apologize in advance for any awful spelling errors - much like Forrest, I am struggling to keep my eyes open but I wanted to post because it has been far too long since I last did (and for that I also apologize).

X

* * *

**Riss;  
**Aww, thank you so much for the feedback, you're so lovely!

I agree with you they need straight forward communication otherwise what they have will never be fixed. It definitely isn't his style, and I agree with you that he needs to realise that Maggie is his. End of story. She is his, he is hers, that is the committment that they made to each other. Aw, thank you, again :3 I thought that making Forrest think that would angst it up a notch (I didn't think that was possible until I wrote this) and while it is understandable that Forrest is suspicious, I thought it was quite unfair of him to ask that, and I include anything unless it has a purpose and this will have a purpose later on.

Aw, thanks again! I'm so flattered. I don't think I can properly express how much that means :)


	19. So In Love With The Wrong World

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own Lawless**/**The Wettest County In The World. No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing, except the laptop I wrote this on, the OC character's I may or my not introduce, and the twists and turns to this storyline. **Enjoy!**

* * *

_Return often and take me, _  
_beloved sensation, return and take me-_  
_when the memory of the body awakens,_  
_and an old desire runs again through the blood;  
when the lips and the skin remember,  
and the hands feel as if they touch again._

_Return often and take me at night,  
when the lips and the skin remember.  
_ - Constantine P. Cavafy

"You ain't supposed to be up." Howard says, eyes closed but he can still hear the creak of the bed as Maggie attempts to stand, arms still weak beneath her, legs still unsteady. He listens to the steady fall of rain on the rooftop above, and then the sound of Maggie sighing as she settles back down on the bed.

The candle in the corner was blown out hours earlier and the only source of light now is the pale glow of the moon as it slowly starts to wane. Howard opens his eyes slowly, eyes falling on the array of bruises that mark Maggie's skin, the worst being the one that has blossomed underneath her right eye, purple in places, blue in others.

"You ain't supposed to be here." she counters, cradling an arm against her chest as she tugs at the sheets and pulls them up to her shoulders. She had taken a nasty fall, Howard had been absent – he had stepped outside briefly to have a word with the doctor – and when he had returned he had found her on the floor, struggling to stand as she clutched her right arm to her chest.

"What you doin' up?" he asks.

Howard is stretched out in the chair, legs crossed over at the ankles, hat on his chest as he breathes in slowly, steadily, but there is a hunch to his shoulders, a slump that suggests that he is being weighed down by something, or someone, and as that thought occurs to Maggie she immediately blames herself for his current state, for the burden on his already heavy shoulders.

"Can't sleep." she confesses.

"Bad dream?" he asks.

Maggie nods. "I'm tired of dreamin', Howard."

"You plannin' on goin' somewhere?" he queries, even though he knows that she will be eventually, knows that she will leave, run, hide, get as far away from Franklin County as she can, but he still frowns at the thought of her fleeing in the dark of the night.

Maggie barely refrains from flinching away from the words, away from the similarity, because she had been trying desperately to distance herself from Forrest, from those memories, the memories that taunt her, the ones that make her wish she never walked into Blackwater Station.

She answers so quietly, so softly, that Howard isn't entirely sure that she has spoken at all. "We're always going somewhere, Howard..." she whispers. "We just don't know it yet...we won't know until we get there."

* * *

Forrest wakes slowly.

After what feels like weeks of endless rest, his limbs are understandably sore, and somewhat weighed down from lack of use, as he attempts to move them. He breathes in shallow, unsteady breaths as his eyes adjust to his surroundings: it is dark outside, tiny rays of light have slipped through the cracks in the clouds but it is an otherwise colourless sky.

He instinctively turns towards the side of the bed where his Maggie should have been, could have been and never would be again; as he stares down blankly at her side of the bed, he supposes that he is in mourning, for he has only felt such a consuming sense of loss once before, and that was when they lost Emmy.

Forrest saw Maggie as he slept, she called out to him, her voice was sweet like honey, soft like those silk dresses she wore to bed but rarely woke up in, and she was smiling, smiling like he hadn't seen in what felt like years. Sun radiated around her as she walked through grassy fields, fingers brushing against the long stems of grass and wheat as she sifted throughout the feels, and he tried to keep up with her but he fell behind; after that he woke.

"Jack." he grunts, immediately grabbing Jack's attention; the youngest Bondurant brother had stood by the window, alert and attentive, almost as though he was on watch. He sits up slowly, swallowing down weakly as his back settles against the wall behind him.

"You alright, Forrest?" Jack asks, concerned already, as he strides over from the window, kneeling down by his older brother's bedside. Forrest nods as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply as he attempts to steady himself, steady his breathing which often turns rapid, his chest heaves erratically and causes Jack a great deal of distress.

"I'm alright."

"Want me to go fetch the doc?"

Forrest shakes his head slowly, and it seems to take most of his strength to simply open his eyes. "I need you to...you need to...go into town, Jack." he weakly manages, as he takes slow, methodical breaths, he is careful not to bring about a coughing fit. "Fetch...fetch a bag."

"I ain't leavin' Franklin, Forrest." Jack shakes his head profusely, assuming that Forrest is trying to send him away so he won't have to watch his older brother die. "Ain't no way in hell I'm leavin' you, Forrest. No way."

"Suitcase ain't for you, Jack." Forrest says, eyes falling shut once again as he fights against his heavy eyes, fights against the exhaustion he has been battling for weeks now, but he gets the feeling that he is fighting a losing battle. "It ain't for you."

Jack frowns. "Who?"

"Maggie."

"You sendin' her away?"

"She ain't comin' back."

"You ain't serious, Forrest." Jack deadpans, disbelieving the words that he is hearing and disliking the way in which Forrest has given up, given up on Maggie, given up on what they had. "Ain't no way you believe that."

"She ain't...she ain't comin' back..." Forrest repeats, eyes opening and now on Jack as he directs his younger brother to where the majority of her belongings are. "Fetch a bag...she packed some of her things...you pack the rest, alright?"

Jack remains silent.

"Take them—take them down to her." Forrest continues, pausing only to swallow on the hard lump in his throat; the thought that he won't get to say goodbye to her, his Maggie, the only one, the only woman he could ever need, causes his throat to constrict.

"No." Jack refuses.

Forrest ignores Jack, just how he ignores the way his eyes sting and his heart aches. "You tell her...tell her I said..." he pauses, and seems to struggle with his words. "You say...say I said I'm sorry...you tell her that."

"You tell her yourself." Jack replies.

"Jack." Forrest warns, weakly.

"No. I ain't your messenger, Forrest." Jack shakes his head, words sharp, tears in his eyes. "You tell her your goddamn self; you get better, you get out of this damn bed and you go down to that hospital and you tell her that yourself."

"I ain't getting out of this bed, Jack." Forrest murmurs.

"You ain't dying on me, Forrest. I ain't letting you."

"Now, listen here, Jack." Forrest says, but Jack won't; he shakes his head, tears involuntarily spilling from his eyes as he hears the low rumble of Forrest's words, this is the sound of his brother dying, fading, this is his goodbye. He breathes in sharply, a raspy sound, raw and jagged as he exhales. "We got no way of understandin' this world."

Jack remembers this speech, remembers the Forrest who beat up the man who was planning on cutting Jack, and he wants to see that version of his brother, the fighter, the protector, the defender. "No, I ain't goin' to listen, I refuse to sit here and listen to this shit."

"We got no way of changin' the world, Jack." Forrest murmurs, his words hold Jack in place even though he swore he wasn't going to stand another second of this. Forrest feels his strength waning, but he needs to say this, has to, Jack deserves this much. "You got no way of changin' this."

"Stop." Jack pleads.

"The world will keep happenin' to you all the same." he continues regardless, carefully inhaling, so to not bring about a bout of coughing, before he exhales slowly through his nose. "The course of your life ain't changing because of this."

"This ain't the course of your life, Forrest." Jack states. "You ain't dying, alright? You ain't beaten, you're broken, there's a difference. You ain't dying. This ain't the course of your goddamn life. This ain't it."

"This is it."

"How you know that, huh?"

Sunlight, rays cascading through the windows, Maggie by his side, in his bed, in his arms, whispering sweet words as she strokes his face. He remembers, always remembers. Maggie dancing, smiling, trying to entice Forrest to dance with her. Forrest wets his lips before he begins, "Sometimes...you just know."

"Bullshit." Jack angrily exclaims, he refuses to believe that one as notorious as Forrest Bondurant believes in such nonsense. Forrest has always been a fighter, but not now, now he is giving up, giving up, letting his life slip away and out of his hands. "Don't give me that shit, Forrest, I ain't falling for it."

"You tell Howard we're family." Forrest commands, as he faintly recalls disowning Howard as brother, as blood, as a Bondurant. "You take care of yourself, Jack...you hear me? An' take care of...of Howard."

"You can't do this, Forrest." Jack declares, disregarding each word that Forrest had previously uttered. "It ain't fair. You're walkin' away, Forrest. You know, I ain't never took you for a quitter. I always thought you were a fighter."

Forrest drifts off slowly, sleep or death begins to claim him. "You tell her I knew, Jack..." he mutters, eyes falling shut, and he can faintly feel hands on his skin, hands that desperately try to bring him back. "I knew...knew the moment I met her."

* * *

Maggie stares back at her reflection in the mirror, her skin stained with bruises, scratches that will surely scar, blood that never seems to wash away. She brushes a single curl back from her face, a stray strand which has fallen forward from the dull locks that dangle around her shoulders. She sweeps the hair back, but her hand freezes halfway as her eyes catch on a bump unnoticeable to all eyes but her own.

The fading sun is the only source of light, it streams through the window and highlights half of her face, dark clouds cast a shadow over the rest of the room. It is a neither a cold nor a warm morning, but she shivers involuntarily as she is dragged back into that time, that memory, unsteady legs feel even unsteadier beneath her. Her hand lingers, hovers, shakes as she brings the tips of her finger up to brush over the bump, eyes wide open as she is wrenched back into that memory; she winces when she hears his voice, slicing through the silence and causing her skin to crawl. "Look at you." he sneered.

Maggie sat at her vanity with an unlit cigarette between her fingers, she remained unfazed by the figure behind. "I'm looking." she said, coolly, baring sparing him a glance as he inched closer. She schooled her expression into one of boredom and disinterest as she lit her cigarette, eyes focused on the flame rather than on him.

"Look at you!" he exclaimed, but she remained silent, and this only served to further agitate the man, who started shaking his head. She didn't need to look at the bottle in his left hand to know that he had been drinking, because she could smell it, smell the strong scent of alcohol on his breath from where she was sitting. "Look at what you have...look at what you _are_...nothing."

Maggie drew in sharply on her cigarette, and when she answered, after several moments of silence, she was so quiet that it was inaudible, "I'm not nothing." she said, refusing to let her voice waver, hands to shake, strength to weaken.

Walter drunk from the bottle, a deep swig, before he started laughing, running a hand through his blonde hair before he pointed at her, eyes turning harsh. "Look at you...the once beautiful Maggie Beauford, but now you ain't no more than the rest of them. You ain't special. You're nothing, you got nothing, you _are_ nothing. Ain't nobody going to love you."

"You did." she reminded him.

He laughed. "No, I didn't."

She hesitated. "Ray did."

He reacted, not Maggie.

Walter grabbed her by the back of her hair, harshly yanking her up from where she was seated at her table before forcing her to look at him, to look in his eyes, because she always looked anywhere but at him, almost as though it was below her, as though he wasn't worth it, and this infuriated him beyond comprehension.

"Ray ain't here, is he?" he taunted, but she wouldn't react, never her, she refused, refused to allow him the satisfaction he found in displays of fear, and even as he ground his words out through clenched teeth, eyes wild and hands tight in her hair, she refused to react. "You belong to me, you understand? Not Ray, me."

Maggie nodded in a show of abidance, causing Walter to release her abruptly; she barely caught her footing as he flung her, seconds away from colliding with the floor but she was able to steady herself by holding onto the chair at her vanity. She brought the cigarette up to her lips slowly, surprised to see that she held onto it, her hands trembled – much to Walter's delight- as she did, before she spoke slowly, carelessly, knowing what was coming and no longer caring.

"Look at you."

Walter's eyes widened.

"Look at what you have, look at what you are..." Maggie murmured, eyes rolling disdainfully up and down his body, before she continued on confidently, knowing and accepting that she had forgone the point of return now. "How could anyone love you? You say I belong to you, but I don't, and I sure as hell don't love you."

Maggie paused as she approaching Walter slowly, inhaling on her cigarette sharply before she purred his name. "Walt." she sighed, as though she pitied him, her own audaciousness surprised her as she clearly articulated each word. "How could I love you?" she asked, exhaling smoke in his face. "I don't even like you."

She expected anger, violence, a slap or punch, but what she didn't expect was the bottle; she hit the ground before she felt it, her cigarette flew to the floor as she did, her hands flat on the floor as she clawed at it. She attempted to lift herself up, but blood trickled down from her temple, she could feel something stabbing into the tender skin of her scalp, and she couldn't stand, couldn't move, because suddenly someone was on top of her.

Walter.

Maggie twisted madly beneath Walter, she fought desperately to get away, her eyes searched madly around her as she looked for either an escape or a weapon, but then he turned her around, so that she was facing him, on her back and glaring up at him, before he roughly pinned her arms down by her sides.

She spat in his face.

Walter stopped moving abruptly, face expressionless aside from the feral look in his eyes, his chest heaved heavily, and she was surprised to see that he wasn't foaming madly at the mouth like a savage dog of sorts, and he remained silent, expressionless, and that was when the paralyzing fear hit her; his blonde hair hung forward, casting a shadow on his forehead, as he slowly wiped at his face with the back of his sleeve.

Maggie feared for her life.

Walter backhanded her so hard that the hit immediately caused her nose to bleed, she cried out at the contact but otherwise remained silent as the blood flowed from her, staining her face and the floorboards beside her as she refused to face him. She buried her face in her hair, but he wouldn't tolerate this, he refused to accept such disrespect.

"Stupid bitch." Walter growled as he roughly hiked her dress up to her hips, but she was woozy, too lightheaded, to be able to respond. She could taste the bile in the back of her throat, and the blood from the backhand he dealt her, and she was powerless, blood flowed from her scalp and nose, she turned to fight him but her head flopped weakly to the side.

He fumbled with the clasp of his pants, but she wouldn't let this happen; she roughly brought one knee up to his groin, causing him to gasp, cry out, his face turned redder, but then she was the one who was gasping, choking as his hands enclosed around her throat.

Her hands flew to his as she squirmed underneath his hold, before she weakly attempted to peel his hands from her skin but he was stronger. "Not so talkative now, are you?" he sneered, and she started seeing specks of white, red, black, her vision was blurring, heart rate increasing.

"Hey!"

Maggie thought she was hallucinating, but then she heard the voice again, a second time, a third, it was clearer, sharper, it sliced through the fog around her and she would have smiled, would have cried with joy, if she wasn't still so damn terrified of Walter, of the hand around her throat, the hand on her thigh, the blood, so much blood, too much.

"Hey, get off of her!"

The voice was dangerous, threatening, not too far from a growl. He lunged forward then – whoever he was – and grabbed Walter by the collar of his preen white shirt, pulling him up roughly and shoving him up against a far wall before he started yelling at him, pausing only to call out for something or someone, Maggie wasn't sure.

He continued to spare worried glances over his shoulder, one hand still holding a flustered Walter up against the wall, while he waited for company to arrive. When they did, he shoved Walter aside and towards the two figures who Maggie vaguely remembered, she faintly recognized them, their clothes, she thought that they worked behind the bar but she couldn't be certain.

"Maggie?"

She blinked, eyes focusing.

"Donnie." Maggie smiled.

He placed two hands on either side of her face in an attempt to get a proper look into her eyes, and when she winced, because of her injuries, he didn't hesitate to help her. "It's alright, Maggie. I'm here." he told her, as he tried to assist her up into a sitting position. "You need to sit up, OK?."

She made a small sound, a whimper, as her own fingers brushed against the broken skin of her scalp, and he gently pulled her hands away and held them in his own. Her vision started to waver, blinking did nothing to clear the blur from her eyes, and he noticed this, he noticed as she started to fade, head falling to the side as she struggled to stay conscious.

"You need to stay awake, Maggie."

Maggie hummed softly in agreement.

"I'm going to clean you up, alright?

Donnie was careful, gentle, precise, he brushed the damp washcloth against her skin, starting with her nose, which wasn't broken, only sore and bloodied. He wiped at the blood here softly, before turning his attention to the wound on the side of her head, which looked far worse than it actually was, ore so he told her. He was methodical, every bit the doctor as he removed the glass from her scalp, only one piece was large enough to cause substantial damage – this is the piece which leaves the bump – as the rest barely broke the skin, and he paused only to pull down the fabric of her dress, which was still hitched up high above her hips.

Maggie remembers the blood, the bruises, the scratches that are similar to the ones that adorn her skin now. She remembers the sound of a voice as it soothed her, as it stayed by her side, always by her side, and there is a fleeting second where Maggie wonders whether or not she made the right decision when she left Chicago.

"Mornin', Miss Maggie." Donnie smiled at her the next morning, the sun in the room was soft, not harsh light, but it still took a moment for her eyes to focus on her surroundings. She sat up slowly, his hands helped her as she struggled to move swiftly, before she froze abruptly upon realizing that the bed she had slept upon was not her own.

She tried to shove his hands away, tried to brush them off, but he held on. "Easy. Take it easy." he soothed, eyes soft and understanding as she met his kind gaze. "When have I ever hurt you, Maggie? I wouldn't. I'm not going to hurt you."

Maggie attempted to smile, but a thought occurred to her. "Where am I?" she asked, standing slowly with Donnie by her side. He led her over to a small bathroom – a bathroom she did not recognize, joined onto a room she was not familiar with – and as she paused, her hesitance obvious in her wide, confused eyes, he reassured her.

"My place." he told her.

"Why? I don't remember—"

He softly interjected. "I didn't want Walter returning."

She froze, her hands shook slightly as he brushed back the hair from her face. "Walter came back?"

"He did, but I took care of that. He won't be bothering you anytime soon." Donnie declared, smiling briefly, before turning towards the bathroom. "I thought you might want to wash up." he gestured around, hands waving over the small tub and basin.

"Donnie."

"Hm?" he turned.

"You didn't kill him, did you?"

Donnie laughed. "I didn't need to."

"Didn't need to?" she repeated, understandably unsettled.

"When I found him, he was badly beaten." Donnie told her, almost nonchalantly, and she half-expected a shrug or some other casual gesture to accompany the conversational tone to his words. "Looks like someone else beat me to it."

"You don't mean that, Donnie." she said, unsure who she was trying to convince. "You're not a killer."

"No, I'm not a killer." he confirmed, before quietly continuing. "But do we ever know who we truly are? I suppose that we don't know and we won't know who we truly are until we're tested, and then it will all become clear."

"I don't know, Donnie." Maggie murmured, she stepped past him slowly, hand resting on the door frame as she turned around to face him. "I don't think we're meant to know who we could have been."

"Or who we could have been with." Donne added, wanting nothing more than to brush the hair back from her face and press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Do you think we make our own fate, Maggie? I bet you don't."

"I don't believe in fate, but I do believe in the healin' power of warm water." Maggie smiled, stepping backwards as she slowly started to shut the door on Donnie. "I thank you for lettin' me rest here, but I can't impose. I'll just wash up then I'll be gone."

But she wasn't.

* * *

Howard paces.

He paces in long, anxious strides.

He attempts to distract himself, to draw himself away from his thoughts, he counts each second as he strides back and forth, stopping only when he remembers, always remembers, and his hands shake from the drink he needs but hasn't had for days now, a week verging on two, and he can't help it, he always thinks of this, thinks of her, hurting, dying, needing a brother that wasn't there.

Howard found Emmy down by the river, knees tucked up to her chin and her back pressed up against a tree; she sat in the dirt, the toes of her old brown boots protruding from underneath the hem of her dress, and at the sound of his footsteps approaching she flung herself up at the tree, and Howard watched on as she swiftly climbed the trees by the riverside; she was nimble, swift, more capable than any other girl in town, but that didn't stop Howard from fretting over her.

"You ain't supposed to be up there, Emmy." Howard warned, but she started climbing faster and consequently higher, causing Howard to fasten his pace. "Daddy ain't goin' to be happy if you fall."

Her dress ripped in places as it caught on branches, bark, tearing loudly and noticeably enough that their Mama definitely wouldn't be happy, because dresses cost money and Emmy kept ruining them, time after time their Mama would tell her to stay inside, tell her not to run about with Forrest and Howard and Jack at their heels.

"I ain't going to fall." she declared.

"You climb any higher, an' you will."

Emmy sighed, her hand slipped as she glanced down at Howard, the rough bark cut the skin of her hand open and drew blood but she wasn't bothered, she was tough, tougher than most realized. "Leave me alone, Howard." she pleaded, sounding every part the petulant child, but Howard was persistent and he remained where he was, feet firmly planted on the ground beneath her.

"You hidin' from somethin'?" he asked, attempting to sound nonchalant as he slumped against a neighboring tree, but Howard was anything but at ease as he watched his younger sister climb higher; he knew she was capable of looking after herself, but that never stopped him from fretting for her

"No."

"Someone?"

Emmy hesitated.

She paused in her pursuit, sparing Howard an almost coy glance before she responded, continuing to climb higher as she dismissed his words. "No," she said, but he remained unconvinced, something in the unsteadiness of her words that unsettled him. "I ain't hidin', Howard. I'm climbin'." she told him, sighing loudly as she stated the obvious as though he was too daft to understand.

"What 'bout Billy, then?" he asked, knowing – but not particularly liking – that Billy Bennett had been showing particular interest in his younger sister. "You ain't hidin' 'cause of him, are you?"

"Go away, Howard."

"I ain't goin' to tease you, Emmy." Howard declared, but Emmy was understandably skeptical. He knew his sister, though. He knew that there was more to be said, knew that she wouldn't be soothed until she had gotten this off of her chest, and so he patiently waited. "Promise."

Howard was younger then, he was clean, he didn't drink – didn't need to – and he didn't fight either, with the exception of the expected roughhousing with his siblings. He didn't have a temper, not like their daddy did after he spent days drinking and drinking, and he was, in some ways, still untarnished, he was a child, a son, a brother, a youth not yet scarred by the plight of men, and he is somewhat glad that his sister isn't here today to see the man that he has become.

"Leave me alone, Howard." Emmy demanded, and he did, reluctantly, but he took slow steps, unhurried strides, for he knew his sister and he expected to hear the sound of her shouting out after him, telling him to come back, any moment now; Howard heard a sickening sound, a crunch of bones, before he heard his sister cry.

He never should have left.

* * *

For days upon days Maggie had hoped, for endless, countless, wasted days she spent her time wishing and hoping like a child, she clung desperately to this hope, this tiny fragment of light in all of this dark, this foolish belief that Forrest would return; he didn't.

Jack did.

"Mornin', Maggie." Jack greets her warmly, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes as he steps forward slowly and into the hospital room, a handful of flowers in one hand and her suitcase in the other. He felt rude, awful rude for blatantly staring at her, for gawking at the dark bruises that stained her pale skin, but he couldn't help it, couldn't help but stare at her, gawk at how different she looked, so different in fact that he nearly didn't recognize her.

"Jack." she manages a weak smile, but that smile wavers as she attempts to sit up, wincing slightly at the sharp pain that hits her, and as Jack steps forward, dropping the suitcase down by the end of the bed as he moved closer, presumably to help her sit up, she gently waved him off. "I'm fine, Jack."

She didn't look fine.

Howard drags his eyes away from the town below, turning away from the window and setting his tired eyes on Jack, who also looks like he has lost a great deal of rest over this ordeal, undoubtedly from tossing and turning at night restlessly, attempting to either make sense of it all while simultaneously trying to shake away memories that would always cling to you.

"What you doin', Jack?" he asks, stiffening as his eyes settle on the suitcase by the end of the bed.

"Thought I'd stop by." Jack says.

Howard nods sharply, knowing why Jack is truly here. "Why today?" he questions, crossing his arms over his chest as he steps forward slowly; he is tired, irritable, craving a drink but he would never dare to leave Maggie's side, not after what happened when he left Emmy alone.

Jack frowns at the question, eyes fixed on the flowers in his hand as he glances up at Maggie, looking guilty as he speaks. "I ain't stopped by yet, an' I thought I should." he answers, almost coyly as he looks back down at the flowers in his hands before he holds them out to Maggie. "Thought these might cheer you up."

Smiling, Maggie accepts the flowers from Jack. "Thank you, Jack." she says as she brings the flowers up closer to her eyes, she smiles fondly as she realizes that Jack would have scrambled to put this bunch together, they look more like weeds than they do actual flowers, but she is thankful regardless. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble, Jack."

"It's no trouble." Jack assures her.

"Why ain't you been by till' now?" Howard asks, voice rising unintentionally as he thinks of Forrest, thinks of how he never returned, never listened to reason, never gave anyone a proper chance to explain. "Somethin' stoppin' you from showin' your face, Jack?"

"I ain't been hidin', Howard, if that's what you're getting." Jack replies, rather sharply, but there is something about him, something about his behavior, that suggests that he is hiding something from Howard. "I've been takin' care of business back at the station."

"Business?" Howard checks.

Jack nods, scratching at his scalp as he glances towards Maggie, and she smiles at Jack, smiles sadly as though she understands and accepts why Forrest isn't here, but Howard doesn't understand and he sure as hell doesn't accept it.

"Business ain't more important than family, Jack." Howard harshly reminds Jack, feet heavy beneath him as he drags them forward, before he turns his eyes towards Maggie; they seem to soften as he sees her, sees her struggling to stand from where she has swung her feet over the edge of the bed. "You ain't meant to be up, Maggie."

"I need to move about, Howard." Maggie replies, immensely thankful for the arm that Howard slides around her back as he helps her to her feet. "I'm tired of doin' nothing all day, Howard, I need to be moving."

Despite his reservations about her moving about, he realizes how confined she must be feeling, how useless, and so he helps her stand. She silently thanks him as she starts to walk, sparing him a small smile before she walks over towards the window, her words causing both Howard and Jack to freeze as she utters them.. "Forrest sent you, didn't he?"

Jack nods

Howard sighs. "Maggie."

"It's alright, Howard." Maggie promises, even though they are all painfully aware that it isn't, that it hasn't been for sometime now, days, weeks, months maybe, all are losing count but not losing sight. "It's alright."

"He sent me down here" Jack says.

"Those are my things, aren't they?" she asks, even though she already knows, and she doesn't expect an answer, doesn't need confirmation, because she knew, knew the moment that Forrest walked away from her that he didn't intend on coming back.

Jack nods belatedly.

Maggie turns to face Howard, who watches her closely, carefully, and she knows that he is struggling, fighting his temper, and so she tries to soothe him, tries to calm him before he breaks. "It's alright, Howard." she says, smiling sadly, voice breaking over the words. "It's alright."

Howard can't believe that, even after all of her heartbreak, all of her suffering, that she is the one who is consoling others. "It ain't alright, Maggie." he shakes his head, temper flaring as he flexes his fingers before he closes them, forms clenched fists by his side, before he directs his words towards a woeful Jack now. "He ain't man enough to come down himself, huh?"

"It ain't like that."

"Open your goddamn eyes, Jack." Howard barks, because it is like that, it is exactly like that, and yet Jack continues to disagree, out of some misguided sense of duty to defend Forrest in his absence. "You said it yourself. Said he sent you down here. Why?"

"It's alright, Howard." Maggie soothes.

Howard starts pacing as he focuses on his breaths, not on his bubbling temper. "It ain't alright, Maggie. He sends Jack down here, sends Jack to send you away, now how is that alright? It ain't right."

"It's fair, Howard." Maggie says. "It's what I deserve."

Howard doesn't fall for her act, the one where she puts on the show that she isn't in pain, that she isn't tired or sore, her bones don't ache, head doesn't throb, but Howard has known her long enough to know her tells, or so he tells himself. He refuses to believe that she has shut off her emotions, or, the more unsettling alternative, that she knows precisely what is going on but she has simply lost the will to live, to care, to continue.

"No, it ain't fair." Howard disagrees, before he turns to Jack. "You drive yourself back up to Blackwater Station an' you tell Forrest it ain't right, it ain't fair, an' it ain't flyin'. He got somethin' he wants to say, he don't send you, alright? You tell him that."

"Forrest ain't—he won't—" Jack stammers, blinking profusely as he attempts to clear his eyes, and this display causes a great deal of concern for both Howard and Maggie who watch as Jack fights to stay composed. "He told me to say—he said—I said I wouldn't do it, but he—"

"Spit it out, Jack." Howard says, the command lacks its usual sharpness, it isn't harsh so much as it is quiet, concerned, silently anxious as to what has got Jack so damn tongue tied that he is continuously stammering.

"He said to say he knew, Maggie." Jack manages, eventually dragging his eyes up and making eye contact with Maggie, who looked as though she was in pain as she heard those words, and she immediately knew what they meant, how much they meant, even though Howard did not.

Maggie moves towards the window, she makes no sound as the tears spill down her cheeks. "Thank you for bringing my bags down, Jack." she pauses, wiping the tears from her cheeks before she turns back towards the youngest Bondurant brother.

Jack smiles weakly, "Said he knew from the moment he met you."

* * *

The sun fights against the storm as Maggie dresses slowly, stepping into a pair of light brown slacks before turning back towards the suitcase that Jack had brought down to her three days earlier. She slips into a dark purple shirt, buttons up the front slowly, and sighs in relief as she sees that the sleeves reach her wrists and effectively cover the countless bruises scattered up and down the skin of her arms.

She sits down on the edge of the bed, her body aching as she bends forward and reaches for the shoes that she set down on the cold concrete floor moments earlier. She slips one foot into a heel, which is a matching shade of light brown, and then the other, drawing in a sharp breath as she feels a sharp pain, a small spasm, in her lower back.

As Maggie attempts to stand, her legs tremble beneath her. Wincing, she sits down again, before coaxing herself into trying again, despite the feeling of unsteady legs she forces herself to stand up. She manages to stand, before she slowly begins to make her way over towards the small mirror in the farther corner of the room, the mirror beside the window where Howard always stood at watch.

She brushes the hair back away from her faces and forces her eyes not to linger on her gaunt cheeks, the dark bruises scattered across her skin or the pale, almost translucent, colour to her usually bright blue eyes but before she can finish getting ready she hears a voice.

"Somethin' happened to Forrest?" Howard had asked.

Jack shifted between his feet, eyes sadder than when Cricket Pate had passed. "He ain't good, Howard."

"Ain't good?" Howard echoed.

"Got real sick." Jack wiped at his eyes, staring down at the floor before gradually meeting his oldest brother's eyes again. "They found him on the side of the road, soaked through to the bone, doc said he could have been like that for hours."

In that moment, Maggie couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't feel. "Forrest is going to be fine, right?" she asked, because even though he was sending away, even though he wanted her gone, gone for good, she still cared, she knew that she always would.

"He says he's dying." Jack choked out.

Maggie shook her head, disbelieving. "No, not Forrest. He's a Bondurant. You boys don't—you don't die because of a little rain. No. I'm sure he's fine, Jack. He's fine." she stammered, unable to even convince herself.

"What did the doc say?" Howard asked, voice gruff yet broken.

Jack closed his eyes slowly, causing Maggie to make a small sound, a cry, a tiny whimper. "No. No, he isn't dying. No. Not Forrest." she assured them, and it was all Howard could do to not rip the room apart; he had thought so little of his brother, his own blood, and yet Forrest had stayed away not because he was hurting or selfish but because he was ill.

"How long?" Howard rasped.

Maggie looked horrified as Howard spoke, her eyes widened as she took in his words. "We have to go to him, Howard." she said, and he knew that they did, but he fretted for her, he feared it may be too soon for her to be up and about outdoors.

"He don't want you there." Jack abruptly announced, eyes opening slowly.

Maggie faltered. "What?"

"He don't want you to see that."

"See what?"

"Him dying."

Howard knocks, loud and abrupt on the door, before calling out to Maggie, who jumps involuntarily at the sound, her heart pounds loudly in her ears as she glances towards the door. "You alright in there, Maggie?"

"I'll be out in a moment." she says.

Maggie wonders what this pain is, this sharp and awful sensation, a pain that crashes over her like a wave; she is drowning, gasping for air as she feels the tears slide down her cheeks, her sobs come out soundless and her hand flies to her stomach as she feels this dreadful feeling devastate her entirely, rendering her breathless as she falls to her knees.

Maggie is in mourning.

* * *

**A/N**: Dear Reader, I'm sorry! I know I took my time, but here it is - an update. I'm sorry, so here's some Forrest feels for your troubles. I apologise in advance for any atrocious spelling errors.

This chapter is a bit different from the last, in regards to the flashbacks into Maggie's past, but I thought it was important so show some pivotal moments from her life before she met Forrest. Feedback is always appreciated. To all of you who read, review, follow or favourite, thank you. You are all amazing and greatly appreciated.

On a more serious note, my thoughts and prayers are with all of you who are suffering. Australia is thinking of you America, as am I, and your tragedies feel like our tragedies. I know it's not much, but I'm continuously thinking of all of you.

X

in reply to the most recent guest reviewer, thank you and no I will not be ending this after 18 chapters, I don't see this ending anytime soon. Thank you for the review.


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